Descendants
by Inherit dragons
Summary: The royal family are in hiding after Galbatorix defeats the riders at the end of the Riders War, those who are left must fight for survival or die! New rebels spring up and down the country and as the war intensifies friendships will be built and enemies will be made.
1. Chapter 1

1\. Loss, Pain and Grief

The corridor was dark, except for a single lantern that shone at one end. The only sound that could be heard was the distant, shouts and screams that echoed off the walls of the castle. Several doors lined this corridor, leading off to various chambers. A man in shadow walked quickly along the corridor, coming to a halt outside a door. There he paused, but only for a moment before opening it and striding in.

Inside lay a woman on a large four-poster bed swathed in gold cloth. It was a magnificent room, the man thought sadly as he hurried to the woman's side. The woman had long red hair. Sadness filled his heart, but he knew what he must do.

He shook her awake murmuring, "Heldra! Heldra wake!" Her grey eyes that he loved so much looked up at him with sleepy confusion. "What is it, husband?" she said, sitting up slightly, and taking note of his travelling cloak and hurriedly tied boots.

"They have come," he said. "Quick, we must get you and the children out of here now!" He quickly strode over to her wardrobe and began hastily pulling clothes out and throwing them to her. "Are you sure?" she said as she pulled a green gown over her night shift.

He glanced at her. "They are at the walls of the city," he told her. "But if we are quick, I will be able to get you and the children out before they break through." "I'll have Eldrina…." she began, "There's no time," he interrupted. "We'll have to get them ourselves."

She moved swiftly, slipping her delicate feet into the silver slippers that sat at the side of her bed. She ran ahead of him, moving almost soundlessly as she hurried towards the nursery where her children slept.

The couple had 11 children. Alda, the eldest was a handsome 14 year old prince, who resembled his father in every way. He was kind, caring, considerate, quick to act and most importantly of all, he was a just the crown prince, he knew that when an emergency occurred he knew he would have to take charge and be calm. He was also protective of his family, especially his siblings. He was set to rule the kingdom one day when his father had left this world.

Their next child, Bellrel, was a sure beauty, she was talked about throughout court, and most every man had taken a liking to her. They all wished for her hand in marriage. But they knew that as a first born princess she marry, another Prince for political gain. Though she was not yet 13 she understood her duty.

There then had been a gap in her childbearing years, her husband had been away on business for a number of years. And while the young queen was content, she longed to give her country and her husband the children that they both disserved, royal children were hard to come by these days. And if she, as his queen could provide that she would die a happy woman.

Then came the two twins, Isgard and Ildrid. People called them the celebration twins on account that they were conceived on the night of her husbands return. They were both true and loyal hearted boys; they had a special place in their mother's heart. Although she claimed not to have favourites. Isgard was the stronger of the two, yet he had a quick temper, and would often miss important points in his lessons. Ildrid was sickly, due to contributing factors towards his birth, and the complications that followed Heldra had nearly died delivering them into the world.

They were at the age of learning still, and at the age of 10 had already learnt a lot, Morzan's desire "was to become a rider of dragons. And every time the riders came, he would run out and watch as they landed. He would then eagerly search for the eggs with a burning gaze.

There then followed the girls, Teardrop, Lovissa, Rosemary, Abriosia, Sweetgem and smallest girl of only 18 months old, Merelda. Heldra held a special place in her heart for her youngest daughter. She might be the last born daughter that would ever come from the marriage between the two ruling monarchs.

But there was still one last child that has not yet been mentioned, the youngest prince. Born two and a half months ago, he was given the name, Riase. The two proud parents had not shown him to their people. The unrest of the country had meant that the youngest child might never be able to greet his people as a prince in the making. This made his parents sad; they had wanted to raise their children in the palaces where they had lived for the 15 years of their marriage. But it was not to be.

Heldra began waking her children, starting with the eldest, so that they might help rouse the younger ones without much fuss.

As soon as Isgard was roused from his sleep, he leapt out of bed and cried, "Where are they? Where are the scum, who wishes to conquer us! I will cut them down!"

"Hush!" Bellrel said, "Come, put these on and be quick. Then help your brother," For a moment Isgard looked irritated and resentful about being asked to help his sickly brother.

Bellrel moved on to help one of her younger sister's to put some warm clothes on, her lady mother had instructed her to make sure that all the children where warmly dressed, as it was winter and therefore cold outside. In her mind she questioned her lady mother's actions but knew better than to question the older woman. Her lady mother never did anything without a reason.

Once they were all dressed, they waited by the door. Waiting for their parents to give them an explanation as to why they were up in the middle of the night and why they were dressed.

Their mother, stood with their little brother in her arms, wrapped in blankets, nothing could be seen of him. They waited for a few moments before their father appeared, with three guards.

"Come, the carriage is ready."

"Carriage?" questioned Isgard. "Why do we need a carriage, father?"

"Not here, come on," came the short and sharp response.

"Best do as your father tells you children," their lady mother said stepping in line with her husband holding the young baby in her arms.

They all followed at a swift pace. The shouts and screams from outside seemed to be louder. The children grew pale and their eyes widened upon hearing the sounds of the dying or soon to be dying men, women and children.

The three guards accompanied them, two of them behind the royal family while one of them holding a sword at the ready went in front.

Isgard could not wait until his tutor Trog would teach him how to use a blade. He had not yet been allowed to use one. Even though his older brother had been taught the ways of the sword years ago when he was younger than Isgard.

They arrived at a side door of the palace; another guard bowed and opened it. The first guard exited the building and after a pause called.

"All clear sir."

The family hurried out and Heldra rushed the children into the waiting carriage.

They all sat side by side waiting to see what would happen, a guard also joined them.

Heldra paused, at the steps to the carriage and looked back at her husband. Her silver fitted foot rested on the first step. What was she doing? She could not leave her husband behind. What kind of a queen would she be if she abandoned her husband and her country to men that sought to overthrow the proper running of things? The riders where being destroyed and it was now her countries turn. What if she never saw her husband again? What if they all died? What if he died? She would not be able to live without him. What had started out like most political marriages had turned out to be true love.

She turned and walked back to her husband and stood before him, for a moment they looked into each others eyes, wishing that things were different. She curtsied to him.

"Husband," she said, lowering her head, she would obey his every wish, and she knew that he wanted them to go, for them to be safe, that was all he ever wanted for them.

"Heldra," he whispered, his voice tender, "I love you above all others." She nodded silently, "and I'm sorry that you have to go, but I wish no harm to come to any of you, it would break my heart."

"I know that my beloved, yet I yearn to stay here, by your side, to help and protect you."

He smiled, "I know that, but you have our children to protect." He cupped her face with both of his hands and kissed her tenderly. "Be safe, by loving, for you are queen, give my love to the children."

He glanced down at the sleeping baby in her arms and a tear came to his eye.

"Now go," he urged her, "go and move swiftly, do not stop until you find safety, never trust anyone in this world, now go!" he gave her one final kiss, pressed his hand to the sleeping child's head.

She moved away, bowing her head in sorrow. She was leaving her husband behind; she was leaving everything she had ever known for a future that was uncertain and undoubtedly dangerous.

Up the three steps of the carriage, she passed the baby to Bellrel, and seated herself into the space by the window, and gazed out on the lonely figure of her husband, her only love, and the king of Alagaesia, King Angrenost.

The sun shone brightly over the little house on the edge of the small village.

It had been seven years since that fateful night and Heldra was still in mourning for her husband who she had lost. The country was in turmoil and that man was trying to establish his rule. The pretender!

She knew that she could no longer return to her old life, even if she wished for it to happen. Her children were growing as paupers, not as the princes and princesses that they were meant to be.

She had also suffered another loss, her twins, her precious twin boys had gone. They had had dragon eggs that had hatched for them, and from what she had learnt, her Isgard had gone into the service of that man, who killed her husband.

In the last year, grim news had passed through the city. The Riders were destroyed, all resistance was broken, the empire was formed. The soldiers put in place to protect the now reigning monarchy.

Her two eldest children had married and had children of their own. Bellrel had married a young man by the name of Terrell, and had two young and beautiful children. A girl by the name of Aria and a boy who they named Versa.

Heldra was proud of her eldest daughter. Even though it was not the marriage she had expected for her daughter to make, but at least her daughter was happy.

Her eldest son had also married, a lovely girl, she went by the name Anglia but, Angvard had only blessed them with a small boy, Aar. A charming little lad, the spitting image of his father and grandfather, it hurt her to see them. And to be reminded so much of the man that she loved who had now departed this world. Her husband, her beloved who had been killed, murdered just so this usurper, this ex-rider could take over as king.

"Mother, lady mother," Teardrop ran over to Heldra and it seemed that her daughter had not forgotten royal protocol, as the girl curtsied to her.

"Teardrop," she said and it took all of her willpower not to extend her hand to the child and offer a blessing, as was custom in royal families. Her elder children had coped with the transition from royalty to a simple life of ordinary folk quite quickly. They were not spoilt and their personalities helped.

"What is it my child?" she asked, drawing her daughter close.

"There is talk in the village Lady Mother of the King..." Heldra gasped, she did not think of that man as king, by right it should be her son, her beloved boy, Alda who should be on the throne not that man. But she quickly remembered that she was not queen, that she was simply a poor woman who sewed clothes, embroider them for other.

"What about the king?" She asked cautiously.

"He is coming here they say."

"Here to the village?" Heldra questioned the young girl, if it was true then they might, all of her family would be in danger. What if Galbatorix knew that they had survived his murderous onslaught? What if someone had informed him of their location? They could, all of them die within the week.

But if it wasn't true then she would worry her eldest children needlessly. She turned back to Teardrop having been unaware of standing and turning away from the child.

"Who told you this?" She asked surprised at how steady her voice was.

"The baker, Aldren, Lady Mother."

"Thank you for telling me," She said still talking in that calm voice, when deep inside her heart, she felt uneasy and afraid.

"Will you fetch your sister and your brother to me?"

"You mean, Alda and Bellrel?" Teardrop questioned her blue eyes wide.

"Yes," Heldra said, "Please, child I must speak with them before I can decide what we should do."

"Yes Lady Mother." Teardrop again curtsied to her and hurried off.

Heldra began pacing, back and forth over the old rug before the small fire place. What were they going to do? They could find one of the old loyal lords to their house and ask for their help. She could leave the country and take her children, grand children with her, but that would be cruel to ask them all to leave their families behind. So what were they going to do, whatever it was they had to decide and decide soon.

She was waiting for about ten minutes before her two eldest children came to her, both looking puzzled. In turn they both kneeled for her blessing.

"Mother," Bellrel murmured.

This time she could not resist and extended her hand and placed it on her daughters' brow, murmuring the old blessing.

"May your rule be pleasant and your heart remain pure my child."

There was more to the blessing which would be fully conversed during wedding ceremonies of the royal family. It made Heldra sad that her daughter had missed out on such a wonderful, glorious and beautiful ceremony, but it could not be helped.

Bellrel gently kissed her mother's hand, her grey eyes, betraying her grief for her lost father. She rose, and stepped back, allowing her brother to take her place.

He knelt reverently before her, his eyes showing nothing but love, adoration and loyalty. He looked so much like his father, Heldra thought; he looked so much like him that it hurt to look at him. Her son bowed his head to her and like Bellrel kissed her fingers, murmuring. "I am your lady mother,"

She smiled and she delicately placed her hands upon his dark brown locks, murmuring the same blessing as she had given to her daughter. Alda rose and Bellrel came to stand in line with him.

"What is it lady mother," Bellrel enquired watching her mother closely; Heldra seated herself and gazed at her children with tenderness. They were such good little things that she hated to ruin their lives. But they had to know that the man who had killed their father was coming.

"I am sorry," she began her steady, "to drag you away from your children and your work."

"It is fine mother," Alda said, "now what is so important?"

"The man who murdered your father the king, is coming here for a state visit, who knows whether it is because he knows that we are here or whether he is just trying to get the people to like him no one knows."

Bellrel gasped and Alda eyes widened. "Really lady mother he is coming here?"

"Yes." Perhaps she had been wrong about her eldest children forgetting the protocol of the royal house; they were still behaving as if she were queen, and they the royal children.

"He can't!" Alda exclaimed, "Bren told me that he has not yet established his rule in Illirea…. I mean Uru'baen, how can he establish his rule elsewhere if he has not done that yet?"

"Perhaps our lord brother had told him." Bellrel commented mildly, "perhaps he has betrayed us completely by revealing our location."

"That traitorous little….!" Alda began put upon seeing his mother's expression he stopped himself. It really hurt her to know that one of her children had sided with the man that had killed his lord father and to learn that he might have betrayed the whole family…. That had to hurt a lot.

Heldra had not considered the possibility that Isgard had betrayed them yet again. He had gone to work for that man why was he doing this! Why was he working for the man that had killed his father, and wanted to kill his brothers and sisters?

Little Riase was only seven years old and now his older brother wished to take his life away from him.

"Whether your brother has informed him or not, we must still discuss what actions we should take." Heldra said, "It is important that I keep all of you safe. I will not loose any more of my family to that man."

"Agreed." The siblings responded. They were silent for a few moments then Bellrel said,

"What do you suggest lady mother?"

The two women locked gazes and an understanding seemed to pass between them. An unspoken suggestion that neither wanted to really admit to, for they knew it would result in the tearing apart of their families.

Alda looked from one to the other, not understanding anything; a line ceased his brow as he frowned. Heldra took a deep breath, making her mind up; it was up to them whether they came with her and the other children. Although she knew that they hate to leave this village.

Now their lives had taken on a state of confusion, fear and longing. Their path would never be straight again.

"My suggestion is that…" she pause organising her thoughts, trying to think of the best way to say what it was that had to be said. "Is that we move on."

"What?" Alda asked, Bellrel sighed with sadness. She didn't want to go, nor did she want to remain here where that man could get hold of her and her son. How though

Would she convince her husband to come with them?

"That we find somewhere else to live." Heldra continued. "I will not put my family in danger by remaining here where that monster can get hold of them."

"But lady mother…"

"I'm sorry Alda, your brothers and sisters deserve happiness, and if that means moving from place to place then so be it."

Alda was speechless, he didn't want to loose his mother and his family, nor could he ask that of his wife. He understood where she was coming from. The position that this new threat placed on her. The country was in a state of confusion. The world on the brink of war.

He studied her for a long time, and wondered, "What is going to happen to us?"

"I will come." He heard Bellrel say as if from a far distance, "I will speak with my husband, I am sure that he will not want to put us in danger,"

"If you need assistance in explaining things to him, I would gladly help you." Heldra responded. Bellrel bowed her head for the briefest of moments to acknowledge her mother's offer.

"Thank you lady mother." Heldra smiled, and then she turned her attention to her son and waiting patiently.

"Mother… Lady Mother that is a lot to ask. Anlia may not wish to leave her family and I cannot ask that of her."

Heldra nodded, she understood how painful it was to leave everything that a person had ever known and start a fresh somewhere strange and unknown.

"I never said you had to come," she said gently, extending her hand to her son. He took it held it tightly, she drew him near and he knelt still holding tight to her hand. "It is up to you what you do my son, I just thought to give you the option of coming or staying. I understand as much as any man or woman could understand that it is hard to leave a life that you have led… there now, don't cry." A tear had formed in his eye and had spilled onto his cheek. She brushed away with a gentle caress of her thumb.

"It is true." She continued. "That if you and Anlia chose to stay that I will miss you, all three of you terribly, your sister does not have to come with me either. Her husband my yet object and have a desire to remain here. Oh my boy, I only thought to tell you that I cannot stay, your brothers and sisters cannot stay here where that man is yet to visit. It pains me every time I think of him. And to see him, and to know that he may know that we live here, both frightens and angers me. For I wish nothing more than to face him and have him atone for what he has done to our family, and to our people. Alda, consider my proposal, talk with your wife, do not decide this day."

He rested his head in her lap as tears flowed from his eyes, his heart already beginning to break, for if his decided that she wanted to stay here, then he would loose his mother. And all of his siblings. He had sworn to protect them. He had promised as prince that he would look after his people and his family, and if Anlia decided against moving, he would loose them all.

Heldra stroked his hair and murmured soothing words to him, comforting him as best she could. She knew the remedy to cure his pain but she could not give it to him. She could not do anything. It would be the decision of the family, his family, Bellrel's family, what path they would choose. She could wait and see what Angvard had planned for them all. For only he could decide their fate.

But she knew, somehow she knew, that eventually, they would all be scattered throughout Alagaesia, and under the rule of that man. That Tyrant. And yet again her heart began to break, peace was lost, they were lost. And only time would tell if they would mend.


	2. Chapter 2

2\. Fear, Love and Madness

Isgard sank limply onto his bed. His head pounded as the memory of what he had done to his family surfaced again in his mind. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to rid himself of the image of his brother's face, contorted with agony and fear as the soldiers had ambushed them, one of them raising a gloved hand and shouting a Word of power into the night. He remembered his brother's dying gasps, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to form words to comfort his undeserving twin. "I do not blame you," he had finally managed to whisper before falling limply to the ground.

Isgard shook himself and returned his attention to his surroundings. Now was not the time to brood over the past. Brooding was for toothless old men and bitter, ruined women, or at least that was what Lord Blackled said. Lord Blackled might be one of the king's most trusted lords, but he was also Isgard's best friend. He had not been a lord long, but wore his title wonderfully well. He was so strong, quick and the cleverest man Isgard had ever known, yet enviably calm in a crisis. If he ever knew of Isgard's thoughts, he would probably sigh and say something like "You're not as brave as I thought," and abandon him. Isgard shuddered. That would be unbearable.

It felt strange to be back in Illirea, or, as it was now known, Uru'Baen. The palace in which he had grown up seemed darker and ominously deserted without the voices of his family and their friends echoing through the corridors. The chamber in which he lay was cold, but not excessively. The king believed that cold air ensured alertness and he needed that.

The door handle rattled. Isgard sighed and slid off the cot before opening the door. Lord Blackled stood in the doorway, his red cloak rippling in the icy draught. On either side of him stood his constant companions Lord Zenwin and Lord Feraal.

"About time!" grinned Lord Blackled. "I was beginning to think you had gone the way of all Riders." Isgard flushed. Zenwin and Feraal laughed.

"Anyway," Blackled said, his dark, wolfish eyes taking in Isgard's pale face and tired expression. "Are you coming with us on the hunt? It's fine exercise to put blood back in your veins after a fever and, if we catch the rebels, there's a handsome reward to be won." Isgard nodded with a wan smile. Anything Lord Blackled suggested sounded fine to him, whether or not there was a reward to be gained.

As the four young men set off, their horses dark against the setting sun, a woman watched them from the palace gardens. What fine young men they were, she thought, a smile lighting up her wrinkled face. How devoted they were, earnest and loyal. If only they did not have to be dragged into the harsh world of war, rebellion and easy death Alagaesia had become.

An instant later, she pushed this thought out of her head. "Sometimes, for the greater good, sacrifices must be made," her boy had often said to her and he was right. It had taken a great deal of sacrifice, pain, effort and courage to achieve what he had and she must do whatever was necessary to protect his position.

She lowered her gaze to the red mail tunic she had been embroidering. The outline of a star was beginning to take shape. Suddenly, impelled by some mysterious force, she found herself picking out the stitches which formed it and reworking the thread into another shape. By the time she stopped, her gnarled fingers ached, but her mouth was stretched in a smile. A twisting flame now adorned the front of the garment. How majestic, she thought.

At that moment, she felt something or someone moving through her mind. "Hello," she thought, watching the probe's progress. "Can I be of assistance?" As this thought passed through her consciousness, she recognized the probe. Her boy needed her, she realized with a thrill of fear.

Hastily putting aside her sewing, she got up and ran into the palace, through the labyrinth of dark, twisting corridors and towards the throne room, carefully avoiding the many magical traps lining the corridors. Being a newly established king must be a frightening way to live, she thought, fraught with uncertainty, doubt and hidden dangers, even for a powerful magician. He was not the madman everyone thought him to be. He was just a man trying to find his way in a broken and treacherous world.

"Who goes there?" growled a guard, barring her way with his pike. His eyes roved over her, taking in her thin form, wrinkled face and fine dark blue and gold dress. The woman glared at him. "Fredrick, you know me!" she reproved him. "Now stop messing about! His Majesty needs me!"

The man called Fredrick glanced around. "Why would he need an old woman like you?" he sneered. "He has thousands of beautiful young girls at his beck and call. What use would he have for a doddery old bat like you who hasn't even managed to attract one man?" The woman sighed inwardly. How stupid and unimaginative he was, she thought. Why had Galbatorix, her glorious, precious boy, now a great and powerful Rider-king, employed him?

A roar from within the throne room made him jump. Then the huge golden doors of the throne room were flung open to reveal Galbatorix, wearing brown pants, a red shirt and his usual black cloak. On his feet were brown boots.

The woman dropped her gaze. To look directly at the king was against royal protocol, even for someone in her position. Aside from this, she could hardly bear to see his expression. His dark eyes were filled with fear and rage. His thin face was pale, even through his tanned complexion and his thin, wide mouth was tight, as though he were trying to suppress his emotions.

"My Lord," she began, curtsying. He looked down at her then, scowling. The woman waited, wondering what he would do or say next.

"Where were you?" he asked after several long moments of silence, his voice dangerously soft. "The rebels are on the move! I called for you and you did not come! Where were you?" He shouted these last three words, making Fredrick jump again and squeak in terror. Enraged by the sound, Galbatorix raised a black-gloved hand and barked "Thrysta vindr!" Then Fredrick gasped and fell to the ground, lifeless.

The woman swallowed hard. She had seen him do this many times, but it frightened her every time that he could be capable of such actions. He had been so kind, sensitive, caring and zealous in his desire to protect life as a child. How the years had changed him, she thought sadly.

The silence spiralled uncomfortably around the room for several moments, broken only by the rustle of Shruikan's scales as he moved in his sleep. Not for the first time, the woman felt a surge of anger towards the big black beast lying on the stone floor. How could he just lie there dozing for hours on end when his Rider was in such great need of help, she thought, enraged.

"I have been reliably informed by the boy Isgard that the wife and offspring of Anguenost and Heldra are hiding in the village of Therinsford," Galbatorix informed her, breaking her train of thought. The woman swallowed hard, blocking her mind and fighting to keep her face blank, so that he would not see her fear. Her heart was pounding, pummelling her ribs in a drumroll of doom. She watched the king's face, hoping he could not hear it.

"And you intend to go after them?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even. Galbatorix considered for several long moments, then shook his dark head. "I want you to find them," he said simply, his voice calm and commanding. "They will not suspect you, as an old woman. Once you have their confidence, bring them back to Uru'Baen and then I will deal with them. The Empire will be secured within the year!" The fear had completely vanished from his eyes now, to be replaced by the demonic glint of bloodthirsty excitement.

The woman fought to repress a shudder. What he was suggesting, the annihilation of an entire family, was terrible! What had happened to her precious boy to make him so hungry for power and violence, she wondered, feeling as if her heart would break.

Quickly, she put the matter into perspective. The family were a threat to his future. If he did not strike them down now, they would do the same to him when they thought it safe to venture out of wherever they were hiding. Besides, she could never, never refuse him anything. "Yes, My Lord," she heard herself say.

Galbatorix smiled and kissed her forehead gently. "Thank you," he murmured. "You will report back to me frequently, will you not?" He was anxious now. She could see it in his face. "Of course darling," she said, before she could stop herself.

The king smiled once more and kissed her again before dismissing her. The woman hurried away, her mind racing. There was no time to fret about the past now, she told herself firmly. She must complete this task quickly, for Alagaesia, for Galbatorix. He needed her.


	3. Chapter 3

3\. Decisions, misery and farewell.

That night Heldra dreamt. She was back at home, her home where she had lived before coming to this island. Before she left her parents and all she had known. It had been the summer before the big flood. She saw herself, sitting in the grounds of their imposing fortress of a castle. With it's high towers and the big thick wall that would keep out all but the most dangerous foe.

The foe, a big winged creature, with eyes that glowed in the dark with burning red rage and with it's claws, deathly white and sharp. The Hesero, as her people called it, fearsome, imposing and terrible. She remembered what her people had said, "it came over the sea, to punish us." She had never understood what they had done wrong to deserve that. What could they have possibly done?

She remembered her dread as he father and mother had summoned her to their throne room where they would hold council. Here the monarchs ruled together, here the woman was not inferior. They ruled together as one.

She knew that soon she would be married off, sent to another country to wed a king and become a queen. But she was aware that not all countries ruled as hers did. Many saw the woman as nothing more than the child bearing, slaves to man. She would miss this place.

 _She remembered entering the throne room, twisting her hands nervously around a piece of silk. Had they found her a husband? If so when would she leave? Being the eldest daughter had its disadvantages. Sometimes, and only sometimes she envied her younger siblings. They would stay here, with mother, with father._

 _She walked up the aisle. The sun shone through the windows and reflected off her golden tiara that rested upon her brow. Her dress was a royal blue. She was tall for her age, and slim. Many people she knew thought it a bad combination. But she liked it. It meant that she could get into the smallest gaps to hide when she played with her siblings._

 _"Royal mother," she curtsied, "father."_

 _"Daughter." Her mother's voice was soft and gentle, and quiet. It would have been lost on the breeze if the wind had picked up. Queen Istear was a short thin woman with long midnight black hair. Today she had choose to wear it curled up under her crown, giving her the appearance of having gold hair. She wore a gown of gold and silver silk, with a purple sash around her small waist._

 _Her father too was slim, but he was tall unlike his wife. He had brown hair that fell to his shoulders. A crown to rested upon his head but it appeared to have been made too big for him as every so often it would slip further down his forehead. It was a running joke that the king would spoil his own effect by that crown, it was a blessing and it was a curse, a crown that slid over his eyes at he wrong moment could send a prisoner into a fit of giggles. But the lords of his court let it be known that when the crown falls over the kings eyes, it would mean certain death for a traitor. Her parents where good rulers. The people loved them, and when they were not pleased or angry, they feared them. They were not often angry and so for the most the people adored them._

 _"My sweet daughter." Her father said standing, at his impressive 6 ft 4, height he would look down on everyone, "how do you feel today, a little better I trust."_

 _"I feel much better thank you." She responded, looking down for a moment before glancing back up at him._

 _"Good," her father commented, smiling fondly down at his eldest daughter, they were close, as close as any father and daughter. He would come to her when ill and he would comfort her when she cried._

 _"We called you here," her mother said more businesslike than her father. "to discuss your marriage." She said bluntly. Heldra felt a stab of pain at her heart. She knew her father felt it too. For his gaze lingered on her, a glimpse of pain. He did not want to send her away, but it was after all her duty. Her mother was a good mother yes, she saw to her children's every need and comfort,. But she was not hands on. She would never come to the nursery to kiss the children goodnight, unlike their father who was very hands on and came every night and every morning._

 _Her father cleared his throat, obviously trying to hold back any emotion and to speak as a king. "yes, my daughter, we have found you a good match…" he faltered slightly before continuing.#, "a man that will look after you, and who you will rule beside as his queen."_

 _"Yes father," She her throat tighten at the thought of leaving home, but she could not afford to dwell on such thoughts, of never seeing her family ever again, and what would her husband be like? Would he be kind to her? Would he love her? Would they rule together as a husband and wife ought to? After all it was the will of the mighty Whenul that a king and queen rule as one. "who is to be my husbands?" She asked trying to hide her nerves from both her parents, but her father knowing his daughter as he did knew that she was nervous._

 _"This is a good alliance," her mother said looking at her daughter with difference. "A good match."_

 _Her father smiled at her reassuringly before saying. "He is Prince Angrenost of Alagaesia._

Her fears of marrying Angrenost had been pointless, he was a good man and when they were married showed her such tenderness and love. She had fallen in love.

But now he was dead! Now he had gone from her and their children. Isgard's betrayal hurt, and to add to it, he had been part responsible for her lover's death.

She woke with a start seeing Angrenost in the dream seemed so real, she looked around her room hoping that he was there, lying beside her as he always did. But when she looked he was gone. He was dead. And the grief, the overwhelming pain at his loss came crashing over her like a wave. Wave upon wave of searing grief washed over her and before long she felt the tears roll down her cheeks.

She would never see him again, never feel his hand on hers again. Never see him again. Hopelessness fell over her, she didn't know which way to turn. Soldiers had arrived in the village, and that meant that they had been discovered. Her children were in danger and there was nothing she could do about it. they were leaving yes, but they might as well tell the tyrant. "Hey we are over here, come and get us." And she couldn't take all of them, and as much as it pained her she knew that she would have to leave one of them behind. Bellrel and her family might decide to stay here or she eldest son. Alda, her beloved boy, who would have one day been king, might decide to stay though it was foolish to. They will come. She told herself. They will come with us and be safe.

The children. That was who she was doing this for, to save the children and allow them to grow and prosper, for they were the descendants of kings and queens. They were the true heir's to the throne, and one day, Alda's children. Or any of her children would rule Alagaesia, would be the salvation of Alagaesia. Of that she was sure.

She rose, pulling on her simple green dress. She had to prepare, she had to make sure they had everything they needed. She headed into hall, peering into the room where the children slept. All were fast asleep. She would have to wake them soon. They had to leave soon, if they were to get away from the soldier. She had given Alda and Bellrel, a location where they would meet, and she had told them that they would wait there until the sun had risen for them to come. If they did not then they would go alone. It hurt her just to think of leaving them. But she knew that for the sake of the younger children that she had to do it.

She checked the pile of items that she had packed the night before and headed into the kitchen. She had to think. Collecting a glass she filled it with water from the barrel they kept in the corner of the room. She could have taken them to her homeland at the start of all of this. But at the time she didn't have the coin. She was sure that the sailors would have taken her fro free,. They had all loved Angrenost and his fair queen but she hated the idea of them doing work for nothing. She could take them there now. But there was still the problem of money. She had a little, perhaps they would consent to work for that. That was assuming that man had not taken over all the ports and put his corrupt men into the positions of good honest men. They would have to make it to the south coast then. Fighting persisted down there, as the people fought to succeeded form the tyrants rule. But maybe they would help her and her family if she revealed who they were. They might.

That was where she would go then. Past the Burning Plains, and across the Jiet river. It would be their only hope of survival. The Elves, their friends had withdrawn from the human world and hidden where they would not come from again until the Tyrant had been overthrown. The Dwarves too had disappeared. She sighed, sadness filling her heart. She took a sip. There might be a way of saving at least one of her children. She could ask one of the village families to take one of her children in and protect them. She could think of a few people who would do that for her. Some of them knew who she was and had kept her secret. Some had noticed the children's reference to her as "my lady mother." And she had confided this to some of her friends. But which child? Which child could she possibly leave behind? It hurt her to think that she would leave one of them behind and to think that she would never see that child again would tear her apart. She couldn't do it, she couldn't. she needed all of her children with he. She needed to know that they were all safe.

She could leave her two youngest. Put them in different homes. And have other look after them. Riase and Merelda would have a much better life here. They would grow and prosper and who knows. They might even have the opportunity to kill that vile man who calls himself a monarch. The pain in her chest seemed to intensified as she thought about what she could do.

It was time to go. The children were up and the sun had begun to rise. And they waited by the stone just off to the left of the road which round its way southwards. Alda. Never wanting to be parted from his mother had convinced his wife that they should go. He had told her everything and she seemed a little nervous as she curtsied before Heldra.

"There is no need for that. Child," Heldra said kindly, touching the girls' shoulder. "I am no longer a queen, and we are family." Anlia smiled nervously and took Ara hand.

They waited. Heldra anxiously watched the sun and glancing towards the road. Where Bellrel and her family coming? Terrel was a nice lad but he would be reluctant to leave. Would he believe Bellrel when she told him of the circumstance? Would be agree to come?

"It's alright Lady Mother, she will come."

She nodded and anxiously up the road. The smoke from the chimneys had already begun to show in the light of the morning sun. x-apple-data-detectors:/0

Heldra was about to give up hope that her daughter and her family would came when she heard the laughter coming from the village, she looked back and saw Bellrel. Carrying Versal and holding Ardia's hand. Beside them walked Terrel. With a pack on his back and leading a grey horse piled high with supplies. Heldra smiled in relief.

"Sorry we are late Lady Mother. Ardia wouldn't get up!"

"Your majesty." Terrel said bowing at kneeling at her feet. Heldra smiled extending her hand and allowing Terrel to kiss it. Then she offered her blessing to him. Placing her hands over his head and murmuring a phrase.

"Take this blessing child, and may your future be happy."

He bowed again, and Heldra helped him to his feet. She surveyed the group. All of them were going into danger, she knew that. And she also knew that to stay would mean suicide. They had to take the chance.

She glanced back at the village wistfully. If only they could stay and find peace. If only they would stay and raise their family.

Alda hugged his mother, and whispered. "it will be alright lady mother, I promise you. All will be well."

"I know." She hugged him back and gave him what she hoped would be a confident smile. By Angvard, he looked so much like Angrenost. Her heart ached when thinking of him. so she missed him so much! She wanted to be with him again. But she knew that he would want her to look after the children. She had made a promise to him and look after the children she would.

"Lets go." She said. Glancing up at the sky, and murmuring. "Protect us, my lord husband. Watch over your children and guide us to safety. I miss you my love."


	4. Chapter 4

4\. Morzan

Orrin lay back in the golden field, smiling as he listened to the sheep bleating and grazing around him. A light breeze swept over his face, playing with his hair like a mischievous palace cat. In the distance, he could hear splashing and laughter. Irwin and Cantos, whose sheep he was tending, must have gone swimming in the river, he thought. Good idea.

He was a prince, a rebelling prince in a newly-developed nation rising up against a usurping tyrant, but a prince nonetheless. When his father was inevitably called to the halls of the gods, he would have to take his place as the people's leader in law, battles, education and everything else for which kings were responsible. In the meantime, he must prepare himself.

He knew many people thought him odd for spending so much time with animals, but he didn't care. They were fine playmates and companions. Besides, protecting those who were vulnerable gave him a chance to practice his swordsmanship and other battle skills. So, when he wasn't riding horses, helping local farmers to look after pigs, milking cows or playing with the royal dogs and the cats which roamed around the palace, he would be helping the shepherds, especially his best friends Irwin and Cantos. They were good, brave, steadfast, honest and very intelligent men. Irwin, the older brother, was slightly more serious than Cantos, but they both enjoyed swimming, dice, cards, chess, playing practical jokes and partying.

He thought of his older sister Heldra, in Alagaesia. She had loved parties when they were young. "Relaxing renews a leader's strength to rule his people better," she had often told him and he had taken her very seriously. How was she faring, in the usurper's domain? How were her children and husband? Were they safe?

A lamb butted him with its soft head, bleating cheerfully, like a child at play. Orrin reached out a hand and stroked it, raising himself onto one elbow to see it properly. Around them, the flock munched contentedly on the sweet grass that had sprung up after the summer floods. How beautiful they were, thought Orrin, reaching out his other hand to stroke the lamb's mother, a young ewe with a very dark and pretty head, which stood out against her snow-white wool, which had been shorn off that morning. Their white forms, moving slowly over the green-gold field, reminded him of opals or pearls sliding in the metal of a crown that was being forged or his father's white robes of state shining in the sun as he rose to deliver a magnificent speech to his eagerly listening subjects. "My dear comrades," he would say. "Aleisia is progressing beyond our wildest dreams! Today, I bring tidings of great news!"

A roar, like a thousand screams of pain and terror, rent the air and broke the train of his thoughts. Orrin sat up quickly, his heart skipping a beat. He had been imagining that sound, hadn't he? That terrible creature was dead, slain by Griffeld Swifthand. It would never return to plague Aleisia again.

The screaming roar came again. Orrin opened his eyes. The sheep were running now, stampeding this way and that in their confused panic, some already bleeding heavily from unseen wounds.

Seeing the ewe he had stroked earlier lying on the ground, her chest heaving with effort as she laboured to breathe, he was filled with panic. Putting a shaking hand to her chest to inspect the wound, he found nothing, but his hand came away soaked with bright red blood. A second later, something black and white swooped down and snatched up her body before taking to the sky once more. Orrin raised his eyes heavenwards, feeling suddenly dizzy and unbearable nauseous. His head throbbed and seemed to be spinning. Black dots drifted before his eyes, swarming into his line of vision like locusts swarming to a cornfield. Then he was falling backwards, his vision went black and he knew nothing more.

Irwin clambered out of the river, feeling the sun's warmth enfold him like a blanket in the hands of a fond mother. The sandy banks were deserted; the trees devoid even of birds. Something did not feel right, he thought.

A screaming roar made his ears ring. He glanced at his brother, wondering if he had heard it too. He prayed he had not. If he had, that would mean the Hesero was alive. That would mean the country was in peril once more from its bottomless appetite, cruel nature and the poisonous insects it rained down on any land it found.

"Cantos!" he called, his voice shaking with panic. "Cantos, get up! We have to leave quickly!" As if in response, a bloodstained body floated to the surface, its eyes open and unseeing. Irwin seized it and checked it for a pulse. There was none. Cantos was dead.

Shock radiated through him. Cantos couldn't be dead. He had been in perfect health that morning, despite having eaten far too many cherry pies the night before. As he noticed the large snail on his brother's chest, revolted comprehension turned his shock to terror and sorrow. His brother was dead. He would never become a man, marry or have children. Even worse for the people, the Hesero had returned and was spewing its foul young on the earth and those who inhabited it.

The Hesero watched the scene below her with deep warm-blood full-belly satisfaction. Two-legs round-ears were delicious, she thought, especially for a breeding female. If only they weren't so noisy. Their idiotic shrieking-mewling noises hurt her ears. She licked her lips with a long rough tongue, savouring the taste of warm red iron-rich blood.

As the bigger black-haired two-legs struggled out of the long cold-wet river, heaving its smaller companion with it, she spat liquid fire from her maw. The scent of roasting meat rose to her nostrils and several scorpions fell towards the flames. Greedy things, she thought irritably. They had barely been alive for a moment and they were trying to steal her food!

Once she had disposed of them with her claws, she wolfed down her prizes. Two-legs were delicious, she thought with a contented yawn. If only they were more plentiful!

There had once been more of them, frolicking foolishly through the foot-burning hard bone-break ground. Then a disease, like the bone-freeze, slow-heart Chill which ha killed so many of her own brethren, had infected them. Many had fled to escape it, leaving few for her to eat. She must follow them, for the sake of her young.

Suddenly, she noticed a floating rocking wooden water-house for humans bobbing in the vast grey-blue-cold sea. If she was quick and careful, she could soon have a feast and many more to come, she thought, quickly transforming into a black and red eight-legs trapper and scuttling aboard with the humans. Then she settled back in a knothole, waiting for the banquet to begin.

The winter winds seemed slightly warmer here than inside the palace, thought the woman as she made her way unsteadily along the road which led to Therinsford. It would take her a long time to reach the village on foot, but Galbatorix was very protective of his horses and had refused to let her borrow any. That was his prerogative, she thought with a surge of sympathy. After all he had been through, it was hardly his fault if some of his ways were a little odd.

She would just have to buy a horse on her journey. On second thoughts, perhaps it would be better for her to appear a helpless old woman with no means. That way, she might be more easily believed by the fleeing royals. If she could gain their trust, she could lead them to Uru'Baen somehow. Then, only then, the kingdom would be safe for her boy. Feeling his mind brush against hers, she turned to his consciousness and felt his anticipation. "Where are you?" he enquired anxiously.

"On my way to find the rebels," replied the woman, her heart breaking for him yet again. It was so unfair that he should endure so much worry, grief and fear alone. Hastily, she pushed away this feeling. Bemoaning the situation, unjust as it was, would only hinder her in her task.

"I'll contact you when I find them," she told him gently. She felt his frustration, then it gradually mellowed and was overtaken by fatigue. "You will hurry, won't you?" he murmured faintly. "If the rebels come..." "They won't come near you," she reassured him. "Not if I can help it. I'll kill them if they try anything." She sensed his amusement and withdrew from his mind with a gentle touch. How she loved him! How dare that family of rebels threaten him! She would not rest until the lot of them were dead, rotting and forgotten, like the rabid beasts they were! How dare they threaten her boy!

As she walked on, she took long slow breaths, trying to steady herself. She must stay calm if the plan was to work, she told herself. If her enemies saw her anger, they would suspect her and the plan would fail. She must be calm, like Galbatorix.

Isgard clung to the reins of his horses as they raced along the road. The chariot rattled as it went, lurching when it came to a particularly bumpy part of the road, almost throwing him out several times. Still Isgard whipped the horses to go faster and faster. He was not going to lose to Lord Blackled again.

These chariot races had become the highlight of his days since he had arrived in Uru'Baen. H loved the feeling of the sun on his skin, warming him after the cold of the palace, the wind whipping his hair back and the sheer joy of clattering along and watching the heads turning, people running out of the way and the cries of surprise, fear and awe they uttered as he rushed by. Best of all, Lords Feraal and Zenwin never came to these races, not even to watch, so he would be alone with Blackled for an hour, or more if he was lucky. He had never won a race against Blackled, as he was bigger, older and more experienced than him, but still enjoyed the challenge. Lord Blackled enjoyed it too, laughing and calling to him like a brother as they sped on their way.

"Second born, second place!" jeered Lord Blackled playfully from further up the road. "Not for long!" Isgard retorted, putting on a spurt of speed. Lord Blackled roared with laughter and did the same, but the seconds of his distraction were all Isgard needed. He whipped the horses to make them go even faster. Soon, he told himself, he would win, for the first time ever.

Ahead of him, he could see the barracks for the soldiers living in Uru'Baen and the young men marching outside, their boots striking the ground in perfect unison, an awe-inspiring display of the king's power. They seemed oblivious to the charging horses and out-of-control chariots. Someone needed to warn them quickly or they would all be trampled to death, thought Isgard frantically.

Forgetting all about winning, he tugged desperately on the reins. "Stop!" he shouted to the horses, using both his voice and his mind. They skidded to a halt, screaming as their hooves slid a little way in the dust.

Lord Blackled turned his head at the sound of his voice. "What...?" he began, then saw the soldiers only a few feet away from them. He tried to pull the horses back, but they were galloping too quickly.

"Stop!" yelled Isgard to the stampeding horses, as he had to his own. They flicked their ears and galloped on, ignoring him. As he reached for their minds once more, he noticed something was odd about them. They were hungry, their consciousnesses burning with a deep hunger. As Isgard probed deeper, he realized they longed for the flesh and blood they could smell just a few feet away.

He remembered, long ago, an old maid telling him terrifying stories of the Hynea, scavenging monsters which could assume any form they wished, their one desire being to eat the flesh of humans. "They may look harmless in their natural form," she had whispered darkly. "But behind their floppy ears, soft fur and big brown eyes, they are monsters! One bite could kill you, as their teeth are as sharp as wolves' and as poisonous as the dark vipers you were taught by your father to flee from." Only certain words could control them, she had said, but there was no knowing what the words were for each individual Hyen. Could these horses really be Hynea, he wondered anxiously.

He looked at the horses carefully. They were white, but that did not mean anything, as Hynea could be any colour. Their ears were shorter than most horses' and oddly floppy. A chill of terror ran through him. If these really were Hynea, they could turn on him and Lord Blackled at any moment. For the sake of his friend and the soldiers', as well as his own, he had to stop them. The question was, how?

Lord Blackled was pulling their reins with all his might now, but it was no use. The creatures simply broke them, shook them off and charged on. The soldiers let out cries of terror and took to their heels, ignoring the bellowed orders of their commanders as the maddened brutes rushed towards them.

Isgard thought quickly. He remembered how Lord Blackled had been distracted by his cry of "Not for long" a few moments earlier. The horses too had paused. So one of those words, or perhaps the whole phrase, might be the key to preventing these soldiers' deaths. It was unlikely, but he had to try.

"Not there," he told them, using his mind and mouth to communicate his words. The Hynea turned to him, their huge brown eyes taking in his thin form, then the much bigger Lord Blackled. Their teeth, much sharper than ordinary horses' teeth, were bared now in a sort of feral smile. Lord Blackled paled, his eyes darting around, as though he longed to leap out of his chariot and run for the hills, but was too afraid to move.

Now their horse bodies were changing too, becoming thinner, more agile and much more like those of predators. The smell emanating from them was like that of rotting blood mixed with the sweet, sickening smell of death and decay. From their big red mouths rose the screeching hunting cries of hungry Hynea, like the keening of battle-bereaved lovers, the snarl of angry dragons and the throaty cadence of ravens.

"For the king!" he shouted, rushing towards them. "Long live the King!" The creatures froze, thick white strings of saliva dribbling slowly from their mouths. Lord Blackled looked at him gratefully. "Thank you," he breathed.

Before Isgard could respond, the Hynea started advancing on them once more. By this time, the soldiers had gone into their barracks, having finally spotted the danger.

The Hynea padded towards the two young men.

"Not for long," Isgard said, a feeling of total serenity coming over him. As he watched the foul things dribbling as they stood before him, waiting for his next command, he knew they would not hurt anyone. He was in control of them now.

"Let's go home," he told them firmly. Then, taking the broken reins, he tied Lord Blackled's chariot to his own and clambered onto one of the horses. Then they hurried back to the palace, Isgard glancing uneasily at the damaged buildings, stampeding animals and trampled plants the mad race had caused.

King Galbatorix sat on his throne, smiling as he studied the large scrying mirror he had had brought to him earlier that day. He watched the rebels' son and his faithful apprentice careering towards the barracks in borrowed chariots. He smiled, remembering the Hynea he had sent to pose as horses for their race and wondering if the young prince would realize what they were before it was too late.

As he watched, the boy tried shouting at them to stop them charging the soldiers, then looked frightened, as though he had recognized the creatures for what they were. Then, as though he had suddenly got an idea, he began speaking again, more calmly. As they began making their way back to the palace, the Hynae trotting meekly behind them, a surge of disappointment and fury rushed through him. He had been so close to killing one of the threats to his throne! Having him devoured by Hynea would have been so easy, he raged. No one would ever have suspected an assassination attempt, as Hynae were known to prey on any living thing they came across.

Then, after a moment's thought, he changed his mind and grew calm. The boy was only young, he reminded himself, still young enough to be malleable to older men's influence. It might be useful to have him as a servant, even if he was only a Hyen keeper. Besides, he was still convalescing after a fever. Killing him now would be dishonourable. Aside from this, if he and those who supported him saw that the new king treated him well, they were more likely to support his campaign.

Perhaps it was time to introduce him to his trusted friends. It would make the boy less suspicious to be reintroduced into court, he hoped. He beckoned to one of his most faithful servants, the man who had helped him to get past Anguenost's defences and ultimately take the throne. "Kemba," he said softly, "It is time Isgard became one of us." "Yes Sire," agreed Kemba, bowing deeply and leaving the room purposefully.

Later, as he was resting in his chamber, there came a knock on his door. "Come in," Isgard murmured, wondering who could be coming to see him so late in the day. Through the long green velvet curtains, he could see the sky growing dark.

A tall thin man with sleek blonde hair, cold blue eyes and a pale, pointed face strolled in, wearing the ornate robes of a courtier. "Isgard Son of Anguenost, I presume?" he drawled, bowing. His voice was soft, his accent refined, like that of someone who had been raised in a palace, knowing the ways of royalty.

"Yes sir," replied Isgard, sitting up hastily. "And who are you?" The courtier smiled. "Forgive me, sir," he said softly. "I am Kemba, son of Ricardo the Elder." He bowed again.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Isgard said, remembering dimly what his father had said about Ricardo and his family. "Traitors," he had muttered angrily. "Ordinarily, I would be opposed to judging an entire family, but I've yet to meet one who has not deceived me or mistreated my people. Take my advice, children. Befriend them if you wish, but do not bare your hearts to them, unless you long for a battle and are unafraid of heartache." Hastily, Isgard put this from his mind. He must not give Kemba any reason to believe he suspected him.

"His Majesty King Galbatorix has invited you to court tonight x-apple-data-detectors:/0 ," Kemba informed him. "If you wish, I can bring you to court with me and introduce you to him." Isgard hesitated. He would have liked to be accompanied by Lord Blackled on his first visit to court, but decided now was not a time to be disagreeable. After all, as his parents and tutor had constantly reminded him, politics was a dangerous and complicated game, like chess, but played with words and much higher stakes than the loss of a stone king. "It would be a pleasure, sir," he replied.

That evening, as the corridors rang with the clattering of lords' and ladies' boots on the stone floors, Isgard was led down a long flight of stairs and through a long maze of passages until he reached the cavernous hall in which his parents had used to hold court each night. Isgard felt a little self-conscious walking beside Kemba, whose every move bespoke his calm air and the many years of experience he had had in court. Each time he saw a young woman passing by, he would smile cordially and make some casual remark to her, which would make her blush and smile. "Just do as I do," Kemba whispered to him, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

"But is it really right to play with women's hearts like this?" Isgard asked as Kemba murmured sweet words to a woman of fourteen with long copper-colored hair and bright blue eyes like sapphires. Kemba chuckled. "Oh, come now," he smiled. "As a man of noble birth, you should know the prerogative of young lords. A woman's heart is a waking heart, in need of practice at the gentle arts of love. I told you, just do as I do, but be careful not to approach one of the king's women. I would not want any harm to come to you."

"Who is your companion, sir?" the woman asked curiously. "He's my nephew," replied Kemba carelessly. The woman smiled prettily, her eyes twinkling as she surveyed Isgard. "I am Birgit Jennasdaughter," she said. "What's your name, sir?" "Isgard, My Lady," replied Isgard, bowing awkwardly.

Several people laughed in a way that seemed quite cruel to Isgard. He, however, said nothing as he was led through the hall towards the long table at which he had once sat with his family. There, in his father's chair, sat a tall man with tanned skin, a carefully cropped white beard and a meticulously bald head, as if he shaved it very frequently. He wore a dark suit and the ancient gold crown which had once been worn by his father.

"Your Majesty," Kemba began, bowing deeply. The man smiled pleasantly. "Greetings Kemba," he replied. "And this young man must be Isgard." "Yes Your Highness," answered Isgard, noticing the huge black dragon curled up beside the high-backed chair. He thought of his own dragon, Mosiel, a fierce crimson creature who seldom spoke. "Mosiel, how are you?" he asked, turning his mind towards the ancient, yet young consciousness of his dragon.

"I am well, little one," rumbled the dragon. "Where are you? I haven't heard from you in days! Your mind doesn't feel cloudy with the burning-tired-sickness." "I'm much better, thanks," replied Isgard as Kemba guided him to a seat at a table with many older lords. Across from him, he saw Lord Blackled, who winked at him. "I'm in Illir-... I mean Uru'Baen. Where are you?" "On my way," replied Mosiel.

At that moment, a large group of servants walked into the hall, carrying the evening banquet. Isgard recognized a few of them, but none of them looked up at him. Perhaps they were afraid to show that they knew him in case they revealed his position as the former king's son, he thought as his stomach rumbled loudly.

In a very little while, he was savouring a plate of roast veal in white wine sauce with all the trimmings. Around him, other lords were squabbling, threatening each other and fighting with their fists, daggers and swords, but Isgard paid them no heed. All seemed right with the world. He was well again, or at least convalescing. He was well-fed. Mosiel was on his way. And now Kemba was talking to him.

"The king wishes you to go to him," he whispered. "Do you see him on that platform?" "Yes," replied Isgard, eying the king on his throne at the high table, which was mounted on a dais. The enormous black dragon beside it was sleeping, but even so, Isgard was more than a little afraid to approach it. Dragons were very light sleepers, from what he had seen, and he knew he would be no match for an angry or hungry one.

"It is a pleasure to see you, my boy," the king began. His voice was not loud, yet carried throughout the hall. Isgard shivered, sensing the great power this man held. His dark eyes surveyed the child's pale face, dark hair and carefully-arranged neutral expression. Isgard dropped his gaze, awed by the man's poise and proud features. He looked as though he had been born to be king.

"You are younger than I expected," the king continued. "You certainly bear your father's features well." Isgard smiled nervously, deciding this must be a compliment. "Thank you, Sire," he murmured.

The king now stood. He was taller than he had looked when sitting. As his bald head caught the light, Isgard noticed how carefully it had been shaved. The man must be a Bearer, he realized. Bearer men always kept their heads shaved, spent their time improving their minds with continual study and aspired to become kings.

"I am glad you have recovered from your illness," the king went on. "I hear you had quite an adventure this afternoon." Isgard's stomach clenched with nerves. Was he about to get into trouble for the out-of-control chariot race, he wondered. He glanced at the king's face, but found his expression unfathomable.

"I wished to congratulate you on how masterfully you brought a pack of Hynea under control," the king commended him. "Therefore, I have decided to promote you. Kneel, child." Isgard obeyed, forcing himself not to flinch as his father's enemy unsheathed his sword, a long white one. He glanced surreptitiously around the huge room, wondering what was about to become of him.

A sudden sharp pain in his shoulder made him jump and yelp involuntarily. Several people laughed, causing him to flush. The left shoulder of his shirt turned red too as blood spurted from his injury. The king, however, remained impassive. "I dub you Morzan," he proclaimed. "Master of all wild beasts!" Then everyone cheered. "Hail Morzan!" they declared in joyful unison. "Long may he live!"


	5. Chapter 5

5\. Love and Departure

Heldra was used to long journeys. They were his favourite kind; short journeys never gave anyone an excuse to look at the world around them and fully appreciate it. A person never got the opportunity to see nature at its best and at its worst. On the other hand a long journey meant that this could happen. And Heldra who had always loved nature was able to do it without anything preventing her.

That was unless the children were asking her to play with them. She smiled as she remembered on their third day of travelling south towards the rebel groups, the children asking constantly to be allowed to play one quick game in the lush green grass. Heldra allowed them one quick game, who could denying children anything. And they made it all the harder by gazing up at the adult with large innocent eyes, clearly saying that 'we will be good promise.'

Heldra could deny them nothing, her little grandchildren. Her own she was a little stricter, some of them having grown up in the court of a king should know better than to want to play while travelling, and they knew what was expected of them. But her grandchildren, they knew nothing of their parent's previous lives in the court of king Angrenost. Her beloved Angrenost, she missed him so much! But her grandchildren knew nothing of it and she would keep it that way.

Now after a week they were outside the Valley, she knew that this was going to the most dangerous part of their journey, to get down to the great plain below. The children would not be allowed to play in the time that it took them to get down. It had been difficult; she remembered to get them up, but now going down seemed an impossible task.

"Today we begin our descent." She said to the other adults. The two people native to the valley who had never stepped foot outside it, Anlia and Terrel stared out over the flat plain with confusion and amazement. They had never seen anything like it in their lives.

"It's so flat." Terrel said, staring fixedly at the never ending green that stretched in ever direction to the horizon and beyond.

"And so green," Anlia added.

Heldra smiled, "This land holds many colours and though you have seen few you will in time come to see that our world is made up of many different colours, different shades, and in light and in dark."

"Wise words lady mother." Alda said, smiling at his mother as he came to stand beside her. She smiled back, her heart aching for every time she saw him she remembered he beloved.

Angrenost had been a good husband to her; sure they had their moments, neither of them willing to admit they were wrong. They had their ups and downs. But overall their relationship was a good one. And they had been happy together for all those years.

"Shall we pack up Lady Mother?" Bellrel asking coming to stand on her other side, for a moment she did not answer until she felt Alda's hand on her shoulder. Only then did she stir

"Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere, please repeat your words Bellrel?"

"Shall we pack so we can# leave?"

"Yes," she said, gazing out over the horizon. "Yes that would be best."

It took them only five minutes to pack their belongings, and for the rest of the day they began their descent, out into the rest of the Empire as it was now known, out into the open and into danger.

Lord Stanza stood atop the hill and surveyed the enemy, with a keen gaze. His heart pounded against his ribs as worry and fear gnawed at his stomach and his mind. How were they supposed to prevail in this battle?

It was important for the future of Alagaesia. For the people who were being oppressed, he had no liking for the man and many of his friends who had been at the court of Queen Heldra and King Angrenost agreed. In the beginning, however they had been far too afraid to do anything about it. Fearing what the man would do to their families if they choose to rise up in a rebellion.

That was until Lady Merelda, to widow, of Lord Orevist, who had been the two most popular people in the southern cities. They had been the lord and Lady Belatona, and upon her husband's death at the hands of that man. For simply defending the king, had begun to secretly correspond with many of the lords she knew hated that man with every fibre of their being. Many of them had lost sons, fathers, mothers, and daughters to him and they weren't prepared to watch even more of them die.

They had declared themselves the Tyrants enemies and had left court and led by Lady Merelda had headed south, giving excuses that they must return to their estates and oversee production of goods. But they had continued further south, to claim a separate country, to be away from that man.

In this matter they were all agreed, that if they couldn't not kill the man then they would from another country. They would become the free peoples of Alagaesia.

"It was important," the Lady Merelda had said to all her followers, "to free as many people as we can, to save the children from suffering what adults suffer. We should be protecting the future generation, and to do this we must separate from the Tyrant and become a place where people may seek refuge if they require it. We must build a country where a mother can raise her children in safety. We must build a country where a man can build his trade and protect his family. We must build a land of peace. A loving and caring environment for all our citizens to grow and prosper, we do this for the people; we do it by the people and with them. We will succeed in this venture. We will be free!"

Lord Stanza admired her. She really cared for the people that she ruled. And to add to it, she was not afraid to fight in battle.

He stood there for a few minutes, taking note of the enemy's army which stood several miles to the north. Over 15.000 tents stood in long lines. He frowned; this was not going to be an easy battle.

He turned and began to make his way down the hill back to the camp. Soldiers, nobles and horse greeted him as he re-entered the camp and began to make his way to a large tent where he knew Lady Merelda and her company would be waiting for an update.

Two guards stood outside while another thirty waited off to one side, playing dice and talking. They were the guards of the other nobles inside, each wearing a different colour according to his master. He saw his own two guards, Mathlo and Sersio standing opposite each other, swords out, they were practicing. They stopped when they saw him and he nodded them a greeting before proceeding to the tent and stopping in front of the two guards.

"Yes?" one of them asked unpleasant. It was Veari, a rather round, red faced man, bad tempered man with grey hair and brown eyes said. Stanza's frown deepened. He did not like this man; he was always rude to everyone.

"I am here to see Lady Merelda." He said calmly.

"Are you?" the insufferable man said smiling slightly.

"Yes I am. She is expecting me please tell her I have come."

"Might do." Came the response. Stanza really hated this man, he knew how to anger most people and he did it for fun. But as they were supposed to be working together he had to tolerate him and he would.

"It is important." Stanza said. His tone polite even if in his heart he wished to ht the man stood before him.

"Is it now?"

"Yes."

"I will tell her that you are here, My Lord Stanza." The other guard, Natnal cut in, he knew that Veari was a man for making trouble and it did them no good at all to have Lord Stanza stand around when he had important news to deliver.

"Thank you, Nat." He said politely giving them man a kind smile.

Natnal disappeared into the tent and for several moments, Veari and Lord Stanza stared at each other, Veari openly glared while Stanza kept an expression of cool indifference, he refused to be baited by Veari.

A moment later, Natnal came out and said, "Lady Merelda will see you now."

"Thank you Nat." he said, then started towards the flap of the tent but paused before entering. "And thank you Veari."

The tent was dimly lit with candles. Small tables dotted the room, on top of which was piled piles of papers and maps, goblets and jugs full of ale, wine and water. As well as plates piled high with food. What they didn't eat in here was sent out to the rest of the camp to add to the soldier's small meals. In the end they were all well fed even the men who would fight and die to bring about the future. There was no point in wasting the excess food.

A large wooden table stood in the centre with many men sitting around it. At the head of the table sat a woman, with pale skin, flaming red hair and bright blue eyes, which reminded Stanza of the ocean.

He walked the length of the table and sank to one knee in front of her. Merelda was a very pretty woman, and being a widow at the age of twenty one, meant many a man would seek her hand.

"My Lady." He murmured, kissing the hand that was offered to him.

"My Lord Stanza." She said her voice quiet, her blue never once leaving him. She wore a gown of the deepest black, a black hair tie holding back her red hair. !what news?"

He remained knelt before her as he considered how best to report what he had seen. "Our enemy is north of us. Ten miles away I would say,"

"How many?" she questioned, her eyes still fixed on him.

"I would say around 60.000 my Lady."

Gasps followed this statement and many of the Lords began speaking at once. Merelda never once looked away from him as she raised her hand for silence. Silence fell and all eyes turned to Stanza who felt uncomfortable, but pushed that to the back of his mind as he gazed at his…. At the Lady Merelda

"And their condition?"

"From the soldiers I saw my Lady, they look tired and unprepared. There were many practising with new weapons.

"So they are unprepared?"

"I would say yes My Lady,"

"Ah." She smiled and Stanza found himself smiling slightly too. This might not be as bad as he first thought. But he was still wary, what if the enemy had the Forsworn with them? They would be doomed. Merelda seemed to be thinking along the same lines for she said, "any signs of Dragons, the Forsworn?"

"Not yet My Lady. I did not see them, but that does not mean they aren't at the rear of the army."

"I see." Was her only response, but he saw the worry in her eyes. "Well let us not focus on that event at present. Please take your seat Lord Stanza, we have much to discuss." She turned to the rest of the Lords, as Stanza took his seat at her right hand. "Do you think they will attack us tomorrow?" she asked. Stanza shook his head.

"With their troops in their condition, no My Lady, they would be foolish to do so."

"Good. For that will give us time to organise and the day after tomorrow at dawn we will attack."

She's turning into a warrior. Stanza thought, a hard warrior. It's a shame.

Later that day, Stanza was sitting in his tent, laying out his tunic for tomorrow, he had given his man servant. Galae the afternoon off, the heat of the south had been getting to the young man ever since their arrival here, and was ill more often than not.

He lay it out over the small chair by his cot, and turned when he heard the tent flap open and close, the warm air warming the cool tent by a few degrees.

The figure placed the candle down on the small collapsible table and sat upon the cot and pulled her legs up to her chest. Her eyes fixed on him. Blue met grey and for a moment he was frozen.

"Are you afraid of dying Lord Stanza?" she said, her voice not above a whisper.

"We will not die!" he said, moving to sit next to her on the cot. "We will not die!" he repeated as if trying convince himself. But he was afraid, he didn't want to die. But this war was not kind to anyone.


	6. Chapter 6

6\. The Volatility of Life

As the first rays of sunlight warmed her makeshift sleeping quarters, Cathea rolled over, then smiled as she felt a familiar presence enter her mind. "Good morning, my king," she half-laughed as he began playing with her consciousness. "You certainly know how to get a woman's attention!" As he continued playing, she carefully placed barriers around those thoughts she wanted to block. Normally she could never deny her boy anything, but it was necessary to take certain precautions for both their sakes.

A sharp pain in her head put an end to her good mood. "Stop that!" she exclaimed as he started pulling at her barriers, overpowering them with his unpredictable strength and sifting through her thoughts. "Get out of there!" Her remonstrations fell on deaf ears as the mad king seized the memory of her husband's death and began playing with it, replaying it again and again until tears welled in her eyes.

"Where are the fugitives?" he shouted as he forced her to relive her husband's final moments yet again. "I'll tell you when I find them," replied Cathea, stifling the sadness and fear which threatened to overwhelm her. Why was her boy, her precious boy whom she loved more than words could express, treating her so badly, she wondered miserably.

"Hurry!" he snarled, his fury radiating through their mental contact. "Be patient!" snapped Cathea, anger at her mistreatment getting the better of her. "It's only been two days and since I don't even have a horse, catching those rebels is going to take a few weeks at least! And stop playing with my mind! If the old order had treated their people like this, they would have been overthrown long ago!" No sooner had these thoughts left her mind than she was filled with a terrible guilt. How dare she speak that way to her boy! What kind of mother was she to him? If he, as king, decided to execute her or imprison her for life, he would be right, she mused sadly.

She turned her mind back to him, wanting to apologize to him. "Forgive me, my King," she murmured. "Being a mere woman, I do not understand the challenges facing you as a king and Rider. Please can we start afresh?" There was no reply. He had withdrawn from her mind.

Fear, combined with a deep sadness filled her. He might never speak to her again. He might even banish her from court, never to see him again. The thought of being separated from him like that chilled her to the bone and filled her heart with dread. She shivered.

Hastily she pushed these unruly feelings aside. She had a job to do. Her boy, the king of Alagaesia, was waiting for it to be done. She must not let him down. Drawing her shawl more tightly around her, she got up and began the day's journey.

King Galbatorix leaned back on his throne, listening with amusement to Cathea's anxious attempts to regain favour with him. She was so easily manipulated, he thought gleefully. It was a little childish to use the power of his emotions as his primary means of controlling her, but it worked and always brought forth a satisfying reaction.

Everything was going well, he reflected. He was the most powerful man in the known world now. He had thirteen Riders and an enormous army to police his Empire for rebels. He also had a devoted old carer by his side, who would do anything to ensure the success of his endeavours. Now all he needed was to capture the remaining members of Anguenost's family, execute those he could not persuade to work for him and finally establish his reign throughout Alagaesia, perhaps even beyond.

He considered his plan so far. He had no doubt that Cathea would succeed in capturing the rebel family, with or without a horse. However, perhaps it would be quicker, not to mention more entertaining, if he sent Morzan, the chief of his Forsworn Riders and keeper of his Hynea, to capture them and allowed Cathea to return and have the revenge he knew she so longed for. Smiling at this thought, he reached for Morzan's and Mosiel's mental contacts.

Morzan leaned back in the saddle as Mosiel soared over a village, blowing a torrent of iridescent fire from his maw. Several thatched roofs burst into flames, causing the inhabitants to scream and rush out of their homes. Mosiel laughed, the sound rumbling in his throat, swooped down and gobbled them up in one swallow.

"Was that really necessary?" asked Morzan, feeling sick. "You could have gone hunting had had a few deer." Mosiel snorted, sending sparks flying from his nostrils. As his Rider watched, they landed on a blackbird, which began to smoulder. "Where's the fun in that?" he growled. Two-legs round-ears are yummy and fun to watch."

The nausea in Morzan's stomach intensified. "I'm a two-legs round-ears, as you call them," he reminded him. Mosiel chose to ignore this remark, opening his mouth lazily to devour some geese which were flying overhead.

Just then, they became aware of a voice calling them, an impatient male voice which sounded familiar. "Here I am," replied Morzan, then felt foolish as he realized the voice had been in his mind. Mosiel snorted again, then shivered as he felt the mind that had bound them to its will calling him. He snarled angrily, annoyed at the gold-horned hairless two-legs round-ears ruler for interrupting his hunting and quality time with his Rider.

"Peace dragon," said Gold-Horns, his voice quiet, but full of larger-creature power. "I want you and your Rider to go out and capture the remaining descendants of Anguenost." Mosiel said nothing, but his stomach knotted with the dread which he so often saw in the eyes of his prey. He felt his Rider's reluctance, follower by a grim, resigned resolution. Those two-legs they had been ordered to capture were Morzan's parents and nest-mates. He sensed again his burning-throat wet-eyed grief for his twin, then his Rider pushed it aside. They were a Forsworn dragon and Rider now, feared and despised by all but a select few, all of whom worked for the same master as they did. What could they do but serve him? They had lost any freedom to make that choice through the blood they had both shed, acting sometimes on the king's desires and sometimes their own. "Yes Sire," they said and set off, Morzan whistling for the Hynea to come with them. "Give me courage," he prayed as they began their journey. "Give me courage, cunning and cruelty enough to succeed."

As the floating wooden water-house bumped onto the hard bone-break ground, the Hesero scuttled out and stared around at the stone dwellings built by two-legs round-ears. Excitement overcame her fatigue as she noticed the two-legs round-ears hurrying around on their short legs, some waving their upper-paws about and chattering to each other in their clumsy many-worded language. Her stomach growled hungrily. Remembering the last two-legs she had eaten, she curled up on the ground and waited for her next meal to come.

Before long, she saw a cowskin-covered foot descending towards her. Quick as a flash, she resumed her natural form and snapped up the screaming two-legs, savouring its tender, juicy flesh and warm iron-rich blood as she chewed it slowly, sinking her teeth into it again and again. It was hard to eat this slowly, but she knew, as long as the two-legs continued its high-pitched screeching, the noise would attract more of them. Then she could eat to her heart's content.

She ate ten two-legs, then gazed around again. Now that she had a ready supply of her favourite food, she needed a place to live, where she would be suitably comfortable and camouflaged to prevent her prey from seeing her. Eventually she decided on the tallest stone dwelling, furnished with a hard, transparent substance which covered the gaps in the walls. It was a fine monument, by human standards, she thought coolly. She would stay here for now.


	7. Chapter 7

**7\. Capture and Torment.**

 **They had made it down the foothills of the spine, and where now making their way across the big plain. Children sat on the horses they had brought with them. They had become tired and sleepy from the climb and Heldra was sure that if they carried on walking they would have collapsed. She remembered her own journey; the journey to what she had hoped would become her safety.**

 **The carriage had taken them as far as Yazuac. If it had gone any further then their enemies would have known where they had gone. But leaving them at Yazuac meant that they could have headed west through the spine to Kuasta, Teirm, or Narda, or they could have headed east to Ceunon or Gil'ead. It had been a good plan. And she was pleased that they had thought of it at the time. They had left the guards too. Good loyal men. They were probably dead now, she thought sadly.**

" **Take care Your Majesty." They had said bowing deeply to her, putting their hands against their chests as a sign of respect. "May you stay safe and prosper."**

" **Thank you," she said, giving them a smile in return. She knew the risks they were taking and she knew that if they were caught then they would be killed. "Thank you for protecting me and my children. King Angrenost would have been proud of you."**

" **My lady," one of them said stepping forward. "It was a privilege to serve such worthy monarchs as you and your husband."**

 **She bowed her head, thinking of her beloved. Was he still alive? Surely not, he would be long dead and she was alone.**

" **Long live King Alda!" the men cheered bowing to her eldest son. "The rightful king of Alagaesia!" it was at that moment she felt pride swell up in her and some sort of hope. She knew that Alda would never sit on a throne, and she knew that if they went against the tyrant they would be killed. But the truth was there she was the mother of the king of Alagaesia!**

 **She pulled herself from these thoughts as one of the children, who had clearly jumped down from one of the horses tugged on her skirt. She looked down at the child. It was Ardia.**

" **What is it child?" she asked kneeling. They had stopped to let the horses drink and to fed the children.**

" **Red cloud!" the small girl exclaimed pointing to something in the sky.**

" **Red what?" Heldra looked around but couldn't see anything red. She wasn't inclined to believe that her granddaughter was lying but she couldn't see… Then she saw it flying from the south growing larger and larger with every second. A large red dragon!**

 **Heldra's eyes opened wide with panic, a dragon! How did they find us? They wouldn't possibly have known that they were living in Therinsford. She looked around frantically hoping to find somewhere they could hide. They needed to hide. She moved quickly over to the other adults and said.**

" **Alda, Bellrel, we must be swift. We must find somewhere to hide the children!"**

 **But was too late, the Dragon began its descent. Heldra brought the whole family together and held two of her daughters to her. Dread filling her heart. This couldn't be the end. Not yet, they weren't even ready. She didn't want her children and her grandchildren to die. Beside her Bellrel held her children to her as did Anlia. Mothers and fathers live to protect their children, she thought as the Dragon landed, a number of guards climbing down off it, followed closely by Rider. Heldra gasped upon seeing him for she had seen him his whole life, Alda stepped forward fury evident in his eyes. Ah Angrenost's eyes… But Heldra prevented him by holding out her arm.**

" **Isgard." Heldra breathed, she had not seen her second born son in seven years. And even though he was a traitor to their family he was still her son.**

 **Lord Stanza sat on the small stool opposite his cot and watched Merelda sleep. He couldn't believe that she was here, lying in his cot fast asleep. He would never have thought that she of all people would feel fear. After months of campaign, she seemed so calm. Desolate yes, but not scared. So her question the night before had startled him. What could he have said?**

 **He knew that there was a possibility that they could die in battle against the usurpers army. As much as there was a possibility that they could die form a disease or some other accident but he felt the urge to tell her, to reassure her that they weren't going to die. They weren't, he prayed to Angvard to save them all.**

 **He held a goblet in his hands as he watched her sleep, turning it round and round in his hand. Thinking, there had to be a way that they could defeat that man's army. There had to be a way that they could make a new country. All they had to do was to beat the enemy and then they would succeed.**

 **But once they had their new country what would he do then? Lady Merelda would make him one of her council of that he was sure. He had done her a service and those that served her willingly always got a reward. But he wanted more than that, he wanted t o marry to have children to grow old a happy man. But there with this war there was no guarantee that he would survive to see himself wedded, and that frightened him and what about his Lady, what would she do? Who would she become if they lived through is war? What did the stars have planned for them?**

" **Stanza?" Lady Merelda said from the cot, bringing him sharply back to reality. It was an impossible thought, he would never think of such a thing again.**

" **My Lady?" Stanza said kneeling beside the cot and tenderly taking her hand. Oh what was he doing?**

" **My council have plans don't they?"**

" **Plans, My Lady?"**

" **They have plans for if we succeed, about who should be the ruler of our new kingdom."**

 **He could not lie to her. He could never deny the truth to her. "Yes, My Lady, they do."**

" **And who is their choice?"**

 **The choice had fallen on Lord Riso Armlord, a man with thick black hair, a muscular body, and a commanding tone that always sent his servants into hysterics as he would shout at any man, woman and child who would not obey him straight away. The council thought that he would be able to lead a country into prosperity. Lord Stanza however believed that the man would only lead them into a ditch, forever to be stuck there without food or water to slowly die a painful death.**

 **That was not to say he didn't have his merits, on the contrary he could lead an army well and had proven on many occasions that he could win a fight, but Lord Stanza thought him better suited to leading an army than to leading a country he didn't have the necessary tools needed for leading a nation into prosperity.**

" **Armlord my lady."**

 **They were silent for a while as she took the news in that Lord Riso would be taking the throne of their new country. The news didn't bother her for all she said was.**

" **A good man." She said quietly.**

" **A man who is not suited to ruling!" Lord Stanza exclaimed, "My Lady." He added.**

" **No," she agreed rolling onto her side so she could look at him.**

" **No?" he repeated, stunned that she had just agreed with him. He thought she would tell him he was merely being silly and that he should give his fellow Lord a chance to prove himself.**

" **No, he won't. He has a temper on him and doesn't quite know how to communicate with others. So I agree no he isn't a good choice."**

 **He blinked several times and then pulling himself together and pushing his thoughts aside he said, "Then what do we do?"**

" **We find a worthier candidate, will you help me?**

 **He was ready and eager to pledge himself to her. "I will, My Lady."**

 **She placed a hand on his head. "Then you are my ally."**

" **I am." He responded, "And always will be My Lady."**

 **Now that conversation was several hours behind them and they stood side by side on the battlefield watching their enemy assemble their troops, on the other side of the field. Lord Stanza glanced at his… at Lady Merelda, bother clad in full armour and with a sword in hand. She looked at him her eyes full of determination. Her red hair flying loose.**

" **To live or die." she said quietly.**

" **To live or die." he repeated.**

 **She raised her arm up. High above her head, her eyes fixed on him, her hope for a victory strong in her gaze.**

 **She brought her arm down in one fluid movement, and in a clear voice called. "For freedom! Charge!"**


	8. Chapter 8

8\. The Rise and Fall of Families

Isgard gazed at his mother and siblings, a mixture of emotions welling up within him; joy at seeing them again, relief that they were alive, dread of what he must do, guilt as he remembered how he had simply followed the instructions given to him, too afraid to act otherwise, even if he had known what to do as he had been forced to kill his father, anger at Galbatorix and a burning urge to defeat him. He gazed at them, longing to tell them all in his heart, or better yet join them and help them. It was only right that a child should help his parents and siblings.

As this thought crossed his mind, guilt overwhelmed him again. He didn't deserve to be called anyone's son after what he had done, he reflected sadly. He had betrayed his family and indirectly killed his twin brother. His mother's expression was unfathomable. Beside her, Alda was glaring at him, as if he would quite like to strike him or possibly do something worse.

How quickly his siblings had grown, he thought. They had not lost their regal beauty, poise and elegance, even after years of hardship, fear and poverty. Yet it frightened him to see such fear, anger and weariness of life's cares in their young eyes.

A searing pain shot through his mind. "I'm waiting, Morzan," the king's voice reminded him. "Bring them back to Uru'Baen at once. If you do not return, with the family, I will do unto Mosiel what I did to Vrael, after tearing off his wings with my bare hands!" The pain came again, making him feel as though he were being sliced in half with a two-edged sword, burned with fire and crushed under a thousand rocks. Isgard clenched his jaw, fighting not to cry out from the pain.

Heldra watched her son anxiously. He was clearly in agony, she thought, and her heart ached as she longed to relieve his suffering. He may have betrayed his father, but he could not have been the main offender. Kemba had given the information to the king and she would never know who dealt him the final blow. Besides, Isgard was still her son. "Do what you need to do with me, my son," she told him gently, signalling to the others to flee while he was distracted. The dragon shifted uncomfortably. The men too looked uncomfortable, but their expressions appeared to be of frustration and a deep, all-consuming hunger.

"No Mother!" protested Alda, sidestepping her and charging towards Isgard, one hand reaching for his sword. "Letta!" barked Isgard, raising one gloved hand and lifting his mother onto Mosiel's back. Alda froze, looking beside himself with rage.

"You will not prevail, Alda," Isgard said, his voice now acquiring a harsh, authoritative tone no one had ever heard him use before. The men shivered, their brown eyes fixing on him and becoming larger. Alda's eyes widened at the red glow of his brother's palm. Was it his imagination, he wondered, or did the men appear to be dribbling? Who were these men?

"For now a new era has begun, where the proud are put to flight while the open-minded are lifted high." he went on. The men stood up a little straighter, apparently bracing themselves for something. Alda, Heldra and the rest of the family watched them apprehensively, wondering what would happen next.

"We are not fooled by your master's lies!" Alda responded, his voice ringing in the still midday air. "I do not know what spell you have put on our mother, but you shall have no satisfaction from her or from us." Something in Isgard's face changed, and for a moment it looked as though he might decide to spare his family. Heldra, however, knew otherwise. She knew her second-born son had never been a brave man. He would never withstand the force of the invader's rage. Besides, even if he had the courage to defy their foe, she could see by the pain in his eyes that his mind and that of his dragon were bound to serve him until they died. If only she could warn the others, she thought, fear and sadness welling up within her already heavy heart.

Then an idea occurred to her. Leaping off the dragon's back, she ran back the way she had come, catching hold of Belrel just in time to whisper, "Split up and run!" Belrel grabbed her daughter's hand and fled in the opposite direction. The other royal children and grandchildren followed their example. Morzan watched, fear tightening his stomach. He must find a way to capture them or Mosiel was doomed.

"Excuse me, Master Rider," growled Mosiel, rustling his wings impatiently. "Did you forget, in your great wisdom, that you have magic, a bunch of hungry magical creatures and A DRAGON?! Hurry up and catch them or we're both arrow fodder!" Morzan brushed aside his irritation. Now was not the time to argue with his dragon over who was the superior being in their relationship. Now was the time to finish what he had begun.

"I have not forgotten," he retorted through their mental contact. Then, speaking aloud, he added, "Not for long anyway. At these words the Hynea sprang forward and ran around wildly, resuming their natural forms as they did, pursuing the fleeing figures, rounding them up like sheep. The thought brought a smile to Morzan's lips. "Good boys," he murmured, patting their furry grey heads as Mosiel grabbed the captives in his paws and took off for Uru'Baen.

King Galbatorix turned away from his scrying mirror, smiling. Soon the rebel family would be in his grasp! Then it would only be a matter of time before the peasants over whom they had ruled would acknowledge him as their rightful king!

The courtier standing before him bowed nervously. "Cathea is here to see you, Sire," he murmured. Galbatorix glared at him. "Send her in then!" he replied impatiently. "Yes Sire," the courtier said quietly and left the room.

A few seconds later, the door opened to reveal Cathea. Her clothes were dusty and travel-worn, but aside from that, she looked none the worse for wear despite the days and weeks she had spent wandering through the Empire. Her wrinkled face lit up as she saw him. King Galbatorix smiled too with amusement. She was his, now and forever. She would do anything for him and he knew it.

Then the old anger returned. "Why have you come alone?" he heard himself ask brusquely. "I told you to bring me the rebels!" "Do you not recall, Your Majesty, sending my Lord Morzan to capture them and summoning your servant back to Uru'Baen?" Cathea asked timidly. Galbatorix stared at her coldly, and then raised a black-gloved hand. "Because I knew you would not succeed in the task," he snapped. "I should kill you where you stand for your incompetence!" His palm glowed red, the iridescent light shining even through his glove.

Cathea swallowed hard, struggling to control her breathing. She must not reveal to him that she was frightened. He would never harm her, not her precious boy, her pride and joy King Galbatorix.

A word rang in her ears. It was not a long word. Nor did she hear the sounds which formed it. Nevertheless it resonated with power. She felt her strength diminishing. Her eyes grew heavy with inexplicable drowsiness. Her chest ached and heaved as she laboured to breathe.

Shocked, she stared up at him. Why had he turned on her like this, she wondered. Still she kept her face blank, willing herself not to let her pain, fear and hurt be seen. He had the authority to do as he pleased, she reminded herself. He was a king and she a mere woman and an old woman at that.

She heard men's voices, but could not catch what they were saying. Her stomach clenched and her struggling heart pounded with anxious dread. What were they saying, she wondered apprehensively. She hoped whatever it was would not anger the king. No one must ever anger her precious boy! Besides, she was no longer strong enough to calm him if he should lose his temper.

"Good," she heard him say and her insides settled. Morzan must have captured the rebel family, she thought. For a moment, she wished they were here in this room, so that she could strike at least one of them down before she died, then brushed this thought from her mind. It was a foolish and selfish wish, she told herself. There was no longer any need of retribution. The king was happy. That was all that mattered to her.

As her vision grew blurry, she noticed a figure bending over her. "So much for love!" a cold male voice whispered. "You were brave, clever and devoted to my cause, but it was not enough. Take comfort, for I will always remember you." Then she felt the warm, dry, slightly cracked lips of her precious boy brush against her cheek, as though he were a child again, gently rousing her from slumber in his eagerness to share each new day with her, or reaching out with this one gesture for the words to convey the deep, powerful, seemingly untameable feelings in his heart; love, joy, the fleeting longings of his youth, regret for his misdemeanours, sorrow when circumstances forced him to be apart from her and the deepest longing of every child, for the praise and support of those he loved, so that he might grow into a man.

But he had grown. He was a man now, a powerful Rider and the fearsome king of a great nation. As her breathing slowed and her world turned black, she was conscious only of the deep love and pride in her heart. Not even the fact that he had killed her upset her. He had what he desired. She had done all she could for him and received the greatest reward, to see him happy. With that, she sighed softly and knew no more.

Galbatorix stared at the body on the floor, anger still burning in his veins. Why was this woman sleeping on his throne room floor, he wondered, nudging her slightly with his foot. She did not move.

"Get up!" he barked. Still she remained as stationary as ever. Out of the corner of his eye, Galbatorix saw two of his attendants exchanging glances of incredulity. Or was it fear? Sometimes it was difficult to distinguish the emotions of others when the hollow-burning-tearing madness clouded his mind. Other times he deliberately blocked his mind to such things. He was a powerful Rider and king, the greatest of all the magicians in Alagaesia, with a huge empire to run. He could not afford to be burdened by the emotions of those who were inferior to him.

"She's dead, sir," one of the men said timidly. Galbatorix turned on him furiously. "She is not!" he snarled. "If she could survive scarlet fever, she can survive anything!" He turned back to the woman, shooting a bolt of energy at the man as he did. As the man's limp body collapsed to the ground, Galbatorix turned back to Cathea and began shaking her.

"Get up!" he ordered, beginning to panic. She could not be dead, he told himself over and over. She had been with him for so long, having survived scarlet fever, a battle between her family and the elders among the Bearer people, two attempts on her life by her enemies, all the hazards of life at sea as they had travelled to Alagaesia and the War of the Riders, it was almost impossible to imagine life without her.

He reached out and took hold of her wrist, squeezing it gently to check her pulse. There was none. Her expression was one of complete serenity, but her face was completely devoid of colour. In that moment, he realized she was dead. A wordless cry of lament tore from his lips. She was gone, just like Jarnuvösk. As he knelt beside his guardian, protector and the only woman he had ever loved, trying unsuccessfully to blink away the tears gathering in his eyes, he vowed to avenge her death, no matter the cost. "Whoever has done this, Cathea," he murmured. "They shall be struck down!"

Kemba strolled into his apartments, his mind racing with the ancient death threats he had learned at his mother's knee, all directed at his brother Henry. What would he not give to slip poison into that idiot's evening wine or slit his throat while he slept? It would be so easy and then he, Kemba, would win the birthright of the firstborn son of Ricardo. No longer would he be the last-born son, ignored by his aunts and uncles and despised as a weakling by his mother. He would be a man truly worthy of the Ricardo family name!

Then, as he sank into his chair behind his desk in his study, reason caught up with him. If he killed Henry, all he would gain would be the reputation of a coward. He would no longer be considered for the honours he now received from the new king. His mother would loathe him and his friends would shun him.

Besides, where was the need for such an action? At court, he was a favourite of the king's, known to the lords for his ability to calm the king when he was in a rage, advise him and persuade him to do almost anything. He had, in effect, established him as king through his betrayal of Anguenost, not that he ever reminded King Galbatorix of this. He was, as Kemba never tired of telling him when the need arose, a very wise, cunning and powerful man and very well adapted to the position of sole ruler.

And yet... He picked up his quill, dipped it in a bottle of ink and began idly doodling on a scrap of parchment, feeling his emotions fade into nothingness as one dark image blurred into the next, turning the page black and yellow like a wasp's stripes. He needed to marry, he thought. It was not good for a respectable lord to sit alone with dark thoughts in his mind, even if his family were now famous for underhand deeds.

His mind drifted to the women of his dreams, in particular a young girl named Ami he had taken as a mistress after buying her from a slave market in Teirm. He pictured her long blonde hair flowing like a waterfall down her back and dancing over her perfect face as she moved, her huge blue eyes fixed on him as she boldly spoke her mind. How he longed for her! If he married, he told himself, his wife would be just like her.

"Morning My Lord," came the cheery voice of Balaam, his manservant. Kemba glanced down at his drawing, which had taken the form of a young woman, and hastily stuffed it into his desk drawer. He could not afford to daydream now.


	9. Chapter 9

9\. Casualties of war.

Lord Stanza danced away from a blow that would have, if it had hit its mark killed him instantly, as it was he only received a minor jolt as his enemies weapons glanced off his shield and fell away. Not wanting to give the man another opportunity Stanza swung his sword upwards, and then turning it at the last minute severed his enemies arm.

He turned away, he hated to see a man die, however much it was for a good cause, the man he had just killed might have a wife, children, siblings, parents. And he had just killed me for he would surely die in this battle. Someone else might deal the fatal blow that would kill him.

It was a nightmare. Masses of struggling bodies, weapons hitting shields or other weapons. The sounds of injured or dying men. Then the birds above as they waited for their meal. It was a person's worst nightmare, and he wished that his, that Lady Merelda didn't have to witness it. He wished that she was still in the camp, and away from such things. But she had been determined to fight, and who was he to deny her that. She wanted to help in bringing about a separate country from that mad evil king. And he would not deny her that, how could he, when he understood everything she felt, everything she wanted. And he would give to her without a moment's hesitation.

Another man fell beneath his sword followed closely by another ten men all of them were worthy opponents, all wanting to kill him. But he would not fall; he had to stay alive for Merelda, for his Lady, for everyone in Alagaesia he needed to stay alive.

He paused catching his breath, what would it take to finish this war, would he have to kill thousands of people for it all to end? It was six hours into the battle and they were all exhausted, each and every one of them. Arrows rained down on them as Lord Stanza ran to the aid of one of his comrades who was surrounded by ten of the enemy's men. He trusted his sword through one mans back feeling as it exited his front. The man dropped as soon as the sword had been drawn back out of him. He spun on the spot and swinging his sword cut off another man's head, he was instantly sprayed with blood.

Two more men joined him, then another and another, and slowly they were abler top drive the enemy back, hacking and slashing at them as they went. They had to succeed. They just had to!

"To me!" he called, "to me!"

Men answered his call and came to stand with him as the enemy rushed at them with all the fury of an angry beast, of an angry dragon. Minutes later and they were reengaged in a life and death battles of steel each fighting to suppress the other. They would win, they would.

At some point during the battle he felt pain course through him, whether he was bruised more had more serious injuries he did not care. They would not give in. they would not allow the empire to throw them down. They would win this battle, they had to.

More hours past and finally the battle was over, they had won, they had actually won the battle and even though they were all tired, many of them wanted to celebrate.

Lord Stanza picked his way through the battlefield, exhausted and bloodstained the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his arm; blood ran down his fingers and dripped onto the already red ground. The vultures, crows and other birds descended while wild dogs walked through the battlefield feasting on the dead.

All Stanza could think about was Merelda, was she alright? Was she still alive? What had happened to her?

He walked back into their camp, his sword hanging limply from his side and his shield torn and battered hanging from his injured arm.

"Stanza!" a voice shouted ahead of him and suddenly he felt arms wrap around him holding him tightly. He dropped his sword and dimly aware of what he was doing he wrapped his uninjured arm her. It was Merelda, she was safe! And that was all that mattered to him.

Heldra sat calmly on a stool with her cell, thinking. How could her beloved son do this to her again? Why would he torment her like this? Bringing her back to her husband's castle, back to her castle, that the usurper now lived. When she had entered it with her children she noticed immediately the changes that had been made. It was a lot darker and colder here, and the servants did not linger.

But it was not for herself she worried, it was for her children, she feared that the traitor would kill them, or worse keep them close by him and poison their good hearts. That he would make them all suffer for simply being born. Yet she knew that some of them would die. Her son, Alda would have to be killed, as a rival he could prove to be dangerous if kept alive. So he would die, it was a good thing that she had done leaving her little Riase behind. No one would ever know who he was and he would grow and prosper. He didn't look much like his father. So that, she supposed was a blessing. But it hurt her to know that she would never see her young son ever again.

But it had torn her heart apart to leave him behind; no matter how much she hated doing it she knew that it was for the best.

That left her daughters. What would become of them? She wondered, what would happen to them? What would that man do to them?

In a way, her death meant nothing to her. She would be back with her Angrenost. Her beloved husband who had been killed so that a mad man could take the throne. Who had been a casualty of war, just as they would too become casualties of this war that raged throughout her beloved country.

"Mother," A gentle hand took her icy cold one, and she looked up to see Alda, her beautiful boy standing in front of her. "are you well?" she nodded, she didn't' want to tell him how much she was suffering. He didn't need to know how much she longed for the old days.

"Yes, my son, I am well." She said,

He knelt in front of her and with her free hand she stroked his hair. That man had decided that those who where to die would be kept together if only to make it easier to guard them. She and Alda weren't the only ones in here, there were others too; even some of her daughters, several of her younger children, and even her grandchildren were in here. They too must be condemned to die.

"Are you going to die lady mother?" he asked, he was a grown man now, but he would always be here little boy, her precious sweet little boy. But she knew she had to be honest with him.

"Yes, my son, I am. Everyone here will die, but fear will only make the pain of death grow, accept your fate as it is deemed to be and be content in the knowledge that whatever will be done to rid this land of that man will happen in time." She felt her throat tighten and had to fight back the urge to cry.

Suddenly the door open and in walk several guards.

"You're coming with us." They said, marching up to her and grabbing her arms, Alda held on tightly unwilling to let her go.

2mother, don't leave us!" he begged, tears rolling down his cheeks. A lord followed the guards and stood watching.

"May we have a moment?" she asked the lord, who nodded reluctantly. The guards released her for a moment.

"All will be well my son." She cupped his cheek with her hand and wiped away a tear with her thumb. "Death cannot separate us. We will see each other again, in the land of eternal peace. Do not fear what is to come."

"I need you lady mother." It was one of her daughters, Heldra felt sadness course through her body, such a waste, she thought, such a shame that these children must die for who they are.

"You have the strength; you have the courage, use it wisely, and do not let your enemy see your fear." She spoke to everyone within the room now. "That will be their greatest triumph."

"Enough! Come."

The guards fell into line in front of her and behind. The lord went before them and Heldra felt as if she were gliding, as if she weren't really in her body. She was numb; an execution without trial, without crime, without justice, the madman had surely lost his touch. She would die this day but she would not go quietly, she would say her piece and she would be heard. The people would know the injustice of it.


	10. Chapter 10

10\. To Rise and To Fall

The Hesero watched the last few straggling two-legs round ears as they walked unsteadily from the battlefield. Today had been excellent, she thought. She loved watching human battles, hearing their clumsy war cries, looking at the pretty colours of their hard-metal-shell armour, seeing the huge variety of weapons they created to use against each other and revelling in the suspense of wondering which side would win. She loved feasting on the unsuspecting two-legs too, swooping on them from above and snatching them up. Now she was full, warm and contented. The only problem was, she was bored.

She roared loudly. Several small flappy feathery birds fluttered away, squawking and twittering with fear, but nothing else happened. She wished she still had her captive two-legs to entertain her.

At home, she had kept twelve tender young two-legs round-ears in a deep canyon, feeding them on whatever foodstuffs she could get hold of without being seen and eating those who annoyed her or grew too fat to resist. When she was not eating them, she had enjoyed watching them chatter and battle amongst themselves, finding them if they tried to hide from her and catching those who tried to escape. Her favourites had been the lean hatchlings with slightly more cunning than the others. Their escape attempts had amused her greatly, particularly when they had noticed her watching them and begun trying to hide, becoming clumsy in their fear. When she had ended up eating them, they had tasted wonderfully sweet, but with a hot mouth-tingling aftertaste.

A small male two-legs round ears with dark brown fur growing on its head was wandering around, his eyes glistening with the salty water produced by human fear, pain or the strange weakness which came over his kind in times of separation from their brethren. His form was wrapped in the brown and white skins of prancing four-legged creatures and very thin, disappointingly thin. With a soft sigh, she folded her wings and crept silently after him.

They continued in this way for several long hours. The Hesero could smell his fear and fatigue. As he slowed, his little legs beginning to tremble with the exertion of running for so long, she longed to reach out a paw to trip him and claim him, as she had so many others. She longed to hold him, subdue him and watch him grow big and round before she eventually devoured him, savouring his tender flesh, crunchy bones and warm coppery blood.

Suddenly, he stumbled, a cry of pain and fear escaping his lips. Delight coursed through her. Soon, so very soon, he would be all hers, she thought, raising a paw to grab him.

A roar reverberated around the arid plains. The Hesero caught a brief glimpse of something huge and black before her human was snatched up and vanished in a flurry of huge black scaly wings. Fury coursed through her and she took off, longing to tear apart the thieving beast that had robbed her of her sport and a meal for another day.

The boy clung tightly to his mysterious rescuer, his heart pounding. As he recovered his breath, he realized what he was riding on and his heart soared. A dragon, he thought, chills of excitement shooting through him. A real, live, powerfully magical, wiser-than-the-greatest-kings dragon!

The Hesero roared again, kicking up great clods of the hard earth in her fury. That big fire-breathing brute had just stolen her quarry! She beat her wings, trying to muster up the energy to pursue her enemy, but somehow she could not fly as quickly as she had before. Eventually, tired and angry, she settled on the earth, breathing heavily. One way or another, she told herself, she would get that human!

Shruikan soared forward on an updraft, feeling happier than he could remember feeling in a hundred and twenty years. He had escaped the big cold stone human dwelling-place and his hairless gold-horned oppressor. He had just saved a small innocent two-legs round ears from a black-and-white poisonous-flying Hesero, one of the greatest enemies of the scale-flapper race. The little two-legs had seemed glad to see him and very excited at the prospect of riding him. He was light too, due to his small size, and very gentle. He would make a fine friend, thought Shruikan.

Then a deep painful feeling arose in his heart, like growling-belly hunger, but worse, more intense. He longed for a friend, someone who could love him for who he was and not just his power. The mad gold-horned ruler did not love him. He knew that well enough, but was too angry at him to care. What he really wanted, what he craved more than anything else, was someone, even just one creature, who did not fear him or wish to use him for their own selfish ends.

The boy was stroking him gently now, talking to him. "Thank you for saving me from that thing," he murmured. "I am eternally in your debt, good sir." "You needn't be so formal with me, young one," Shruikan replied, his eyes roving over the now green earth, searching for a safe place to land and hide the young human. "I only did what was right."

A burst of hope rose in his mind, which seemed to race with new, hopeful thoughts. The human had barely known him for an hour, yet he seemed not to fear him, but to admire him. He had thanked him for saving him, had said he was good and even stroked him! While he hoped he would stop calling him sir soon, it was a fine start. If he could just keep him hidden for long enough, earn his trust and train him in the ancient arts of the fair, music-loving pointy-ears, he told himself he might gain a new Rider. He knew this was a very ambitious and risky plan, which the child might not want to be a part of, but it was nice to dream about it. As he landed gently in a valley surrounded by high rock-pile mountains, he hummed contentedly, enjoying his dream.

The gallows was surrounded by people, men women and children. Rich families leaned out of the windows of their rented rooms while poorer ones craned their necks and jostled to get a good view. Overhead, in the few trees the king had allowed to remain in his capital city, a group of ravens cawed loudly, as though shouting their grief and anger for all to hear. Other birds took up the cry and soon it was hard for anyone to hear each other over the noise. Everyone, including the smallest children, knew something both important and terrible was about to happen.

As the prisoners were marched out, a cry of mingled outrage, scorn, hatred, vindictive pleasure and grief rose up from the crowd. The guards flanking the men, women and children smiled cruelly beneath their black masks. At the head of the line was a tall slim man with sleek blonde hair and penetrating blue eyes.

Kemba jolted awake. Cold sweat was beading on his forehead and he felt himself trembling. That dream had been so real! The image of his father, going so blithely to his death, danced before his eyes like an insensitive court jester. He heard, as though he were a small boy again, standing on the balcony overlooking the surrounding villages with his father in one of their rare moments together, his deep, solemn voice as he had said "A son or daughter of the great Orum is repaid in the next life for what he or she has done. The good will be taken into the sun, to rise and fall with the world he governs. The bad will face death from above and fade into nothingness. One day, my son, I hope to become one with the sun and, later, to see you joined with me in this state."

"Kemba?" The soft voice of Ami broke the train of his thoughts and he turned towards her, feeling his body and thoughts slowly relax. Everything was all right, he told himself. He was a favourite of the king's. He was alive and well, in his ancestral home. Ami was here with him.

"Are you well, my Lord?" she asked, her long blue nightdress rippling as she moved closer to him. Kemba nodded, feeling tongue-tied as her soft voice and her scent, like the sweet, subtle aroma of freshly picked fruit overpowered him. How he loved her, he thought, feeling his racing heart begin to relax.

"Quite well, thank you," he finally managed to say. "Bad dreams?" she asked sympathetically. He nodded and saw her eyes fill with understanding.

"If you want talk of it, I here," she murmured. "Thank you," replied Kemba gratefully. It felt good to have someone with whom he could speak honestly without fear of his words being used against him.

Just then, there came a knock on the door. "Come in," Kemba said, slipping out of the bed. It would be unwise to remain in bed if any member of his family had come to see him.

The chamber door opened and Balaam ambled in. He had been a tall, striking man in his youth, with jet black hair and dark eyes, but the years had bent his body forward, so that he seemed to be hunched under the weight of the many burdens he had borne. His hair was grey, his skin thin and wrinkled. His lips were thin and pale and he seldom spoke. His black and white servant's uniform did nothing to improve his pallid appearance.

"Good morning, my Lord," he wheezed, bowing. "Good morning," replied Kemba, quickly hiding his relief at seeing his manservant. As the old man's eyes roved slowly over him, taking in every detail of his appearance, Kemba felt himself truly relax. Some things never changed, he thought, and Balaam's custom of searching those he encountered for the secrets their hearts might be hiding had remained unchanged for the last fifty years, if his father's stories were true.

"Will you be requiring a bath this morning, sir?" Balaam enquired. "Yes," replied Kemba, thinking of all the things he planned to do with Ami that day. "Very well, sir," replied Balaam. "I will see to it forthwith." Then he shuffled from the room, pausing in Kemba's outer chamber to lay out his clothes for the day.

Once he had gone, he turned back to Ami, who had begun to look quite wistful. "What are you thinking about?" he asked. "My family, my Lord," she replied, her voice quiet and controlled, but curiously emotional.

Kemba sighed, envy and something else battling in his mind. He had heard about her family many times; her hardworking tent-maker father, her brave shepherdess mother, her eight sisters and three brothers who worked tirelessly at their trades to support their nomadic family. At his request, Ami had told him stories of good times and bad ones she had shared with her family, often ending them with a murmured remark about how she would return to them or they would find her. It must be wonderful, he often thought, to have a family who cared so much for its members, regardless of their age, ability in any area, status or beliefs! Then he would push these thoughts aside. A descendant of Lord Ricardo had one mission in life; to rise and fall with the pendulum of politics and assist the kingdom to do the same, as was right and natural. He had no time for such sentimental luxuries as love.

Slowly, he turned his mind to the other feeling, a deep sadness in his heart. As he examined it further, he realized it was not his. He checked his mental barriers, in case the king was trying to possess him, as he sometimes did, but they were firmly in place, blocking his thoughts from any intruders.

Slowly he realized the feeling was somehow connected to Ami, but he knew she could not be contacting his mind, as she could not use magic. He could not feel any physical pain, yet the feeling was as painful to him as a dagger in his side. What on earth could be causing it, he wondered.

"It must be awful being away from those you love," he heard himself say. Ami looked up at him, her eyes filled with a deep gratitude. Why was that, wondered Kemba. He had only said a few words.

"Will I ever see them again?" she asked and for the first time Kemba saw how young and vulnerable she really was. A second later, his worry was replaced by admiration. She was so strong, he though, to cope with all the things she had been through. Not for the first time, he wished she were a lady of noble birth, so that he could marry her.

At that moment, Balaam returned. "Your bath is ready, my Lord," he informed him. "Thank you," responded Kemba, making his way from the room.

As he entered the bathroom, he found the bath full, steam rising from the water. With a sigh of contentment, he removed his nightshirt and slipped into the warm water, relishing the feeling of warmth on his cold skin. Whatever the rest of the day might bring, he was glad of this moment of relaxation.

His tranquil mood did not last long. A sharp pain in his leg brought him back to reality. Looking down, he saw a small copper-coloured creature, like a baby dragon with no wings in his bath water. Its tiny jaws were clenched around his leg, its sharp little teeth sinking like miniature knives into his flesh.

In one swift movement, he prized it off his leg. It shrieked and tried to bite his fingers, but Kemba quickly broke its neck, killing it instantly. Then he threw it from him, his mind racing.

He knew what the creature was. It was a Nidhwal, a very intelligent sea serpent related to dragons. According to the king, they were a scourge and a terror to sailors because of their perpetual hunger. This one must have been brought here by Henry or their mother, he realized. There was no way a sea-dwelling creature could reach this castle, it being so far away from the sea. One way or another, he decided, he was going to find out who had put it in his bath and pay them back.

"Kemba, my darling son!" cooed a voice as he was making his way to his study, having bandaged his leg with a torn-up cloak before dressing. He turned sharply and saw the short, thin form of his mother coming towards him. Her white hair was curled neatly, like the petals of a certain kind of delicate flower which blooms in the darkest months of winter, but Kemba knew she was anything but delicate or beautiful inside. She wore a blue and white dress threaded with gold, which made her look even paler and thinner than she already was. A silver shawl was draped over her bony shoulders and she shuffled as she walked in her soft black boots.

"Good morning, Mother," he responded coldly. Her ice-blue eyes travelled slowly over him, taking in every detail of his appearance, his tall, slender build, inherited from his father, his impassive expression and the clothes he wore, black pants, a crimson shirt, soft brown boots and a black cloak over his shoulders. Her gaze lingered for a moment on his leg, where the Nidhwal had bitten him and for a moment something flashed in her eyes, like anger or perhaps amusement. In that moment, Kemba realized she had put the creature in his bath.

His mother now took his hand in the usual gesture of affection after one of these incidents. Kemba took it and kissed it gently, then gazed into her eyes, waiting for whatever she might say. "I am tired, my son," she was saying. "Will you bring me some tea?" "Of course, Mother," replied Kemba in the soft, loving voice he reserved for his family between attempted killings, or tests, as they were called. Then he walked away, a surge of vindictive satisfaction rising in his heart. He had survived this time, thus passing the test, and now had a perfect way of getting revenge.

A few moments later, he was pouring boiling water into a teapot lined with tea leaves. As he did, smiling to himself as he thought of his plan, a small bottle on the shelf where the cook kept herbs caught his eye. A brilliant white substance lay inside. The label on the vial read: DANGER! Do not use on the elderly, the infirm or those with child. Improper use could cause death. After a moment's thought, he unscrewed the lid of the bottle and added a pinch of the glittering white powder.

A few moments later, carrying a tray bearing the teapot, his mother's gold cup and a plate of honey cakes, he made his way upstairs, his heart thumping with anticipation. From the passage above, he could hear Henry's enraged voice yelling, "I should go to the king! I'm the eldest! Why does Kemba get all the glory? He's just a stupid upstart with no prospects!"

His mother was sitting on an elegant couch when he entered her chamber. As he crossed the threshold, Henry sidled out, his expression sullen, reaching for a honey cake as he passed, only to receive a sharp slap from his brother. His mother laughed softly.

"Come hither, my boy," she crooned. Kemba obeyed and grabbed the teapot as she made to pour herself a cup of tea. "Allow me," he murmured, carefully pouring the hot brown liquid into the cup. "Thank you, my son," she crooned, lifting the cup to her lips. "Now go. The king wishes to see you."


	11. Chapter 11

11, Goodbye loved ones.

Heldra knew that this day would come; ever since her husband had died seven years ago she knew deep down in her heart that she would be joining him soon.

As she walked along the corridor her head held high, an air of cool indifference around her, she was born to be a queen and she would die a queen. She would not beg for mercy from that man.

She remembered the night before her last night on this earth; she had been sitting with her children and her grandchildren, those who had been deemed unfit for life. On her shoulder rested the head of her son, her beloved Alda, her pride and her joy. Her first born son, he looked so much like his father it was painful for her to even look at him sometimes. Then resting against them huddled so close she could almost feel them breath were her little grandchildren. The sweet innocent ones who could have lead a full life, who had so much potential. She felt sadness fill her; it was such a shame, a shame that they would have to suffer like this. That their lives had been cut so short.

Her daughters were there too. Most of them, three were missing as the tyrant had decided that he liked them and they would make a pretty prize in this game of life and death. But they would watch her die; they would have to watch them all die.

Heldra was not afraid of death, no what she feared was leaving her children behind, leaving her family to cope with all the misfortunes that would accompany them after her death. She felt sure that the tyrant would not give them an easy time of it and his nobles. But the people of Alagaesia never forgot them. They had been beloved of the people back then, and they as the royal family had loved their people.

What kind of death had the man organised for her? It was bound to be a painful one, she thought, he would not miss an opportunity like this to torment them all. But then, she thought, perhaps he wanted to get it over with, perhaps he would make it a quick one. She didn't know and she pushed the thought to the back of her mind 'what will be, will be.' She told herself, nothing she could do would change that.

The left the palace and along the street to the main square in the centre of Uru'baen, or Illirea as she always called it, for to her it would always be here Illirea. The streets where packed, on either side of the road, people gathered, solemn and silent, some wept others stared at her sadly. As she passed the men took off their hats and bowed while the women curtsied. She felt her throat tighten but she refused to allow any tears to fall. This wasn't the place or the time to fall prey to emotions and she wasn't about to let him see her weakness.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she saw the square, the people of the city folded in behind them and followed respectfully. She was really going to die! It was actually going to happen. When she entered the square she saw yet more people some hanging out of windows, or sitting on roofs, some standing in carts, all of them silently watching her as she made her way to the platform in the far end.

This was where her coronation had taken place, where she had sworn to be a good queen and to help here people where she could. This was where she had been joined in marriage to her late husband, her beloved Angrenost. They had agreed that all subject, whether rick or poor should have the opportunity to join in the celebration of a royal wedding. So they had agreed that it should be held outside where everyone from the richest lord to the poorest pauper could come and celebrate.

Oh, how happy she had been. Walking along this same path to the stage where her husband to be waited, a smile upon his lips and his long hair combed neatly. How the sun gleamed off his golden cloak and how he seemed to resemble a small sun himself. He was dressed all in white except the cloak.

She was walking up the steps to the stage now, Angrenost stretched out his hand to her smiling and she took it. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the square.

"Now let two become one, and let us rule as one." He had murmured to her.

But that was of a different time. It was a lifetime ago. Now she was here again for a different reason. A reason that made part of her want to run and hide and melt into the darkness forever.

She stood still watching as more and more people filed into the square, all watching her closely. Many had tears in their eyes. She swept the crowd with her gaze taking them all in. how precious life was. She saw the old, those who had lived through her late husbands reign, then the younger generations who had barely begun to live their lives when Angrenost had died. To the very young who didn't know what had come before. They were all here all of the generations of people that made her think of her own children and her grandchildren. She was grateful for being allowed that extra time with them. For being able to watch her two oldest have their own children and see them grow, not to adulthood but survive their infancy, and now they would be cut down just as it had become clear that they would grow and live full lives. She felt blessed to have been apart of it all. Her whole life she had been blessed.

Her eyes fell on a group of three girls at the front. They were all dressed in black, and all wore grief stricken expressions. How much like her they looked.

"Heldra Istearsdaughter, you are charged with high treason against his majesty, King Galbatorix, ruler of Alagaesia, lead rider of the order of Dragon Riders, Master Of rolls, Lord or Uru'baen. How do you plead to the charge?"

It was a small man who stood off to her left, his small blue gazed at her coldly and his dirty face hid any of his other features. Is this what the nobility have come to? She thought, they are a shadow of their former selves. With her gaze still firmly fixed upon the three girls. Her daughters she realised, she said.

"I have committed no crime." She was pleasantly surprised to find that her voice did not shake, and she had taken on the voice of a queen, the queen she was destined to be. The little man's face grew red, she could see it even though the dirt. The minor nobility never could keep their tempers. She recognised him as lord Isa of Loana Creek. "If you have evidence to support your allegations against me, then please by all means speak it. But that is not how your new king works is it? He would kill a man even if that man where innocent."

Perhaps she was going a little bit overboard with this, but it felt right somehow to tell them how she felt, how this man had ruined so many lives. And he was paranoid, and he was evil. Was it the strength, the inner strength from the knowledge that she would die that was encouraged her say how she felt, the resentment towards that man, the hatred. And he was forcing her daughters to watch it!

"Then if you will not acknowledge your crimes, on behalf of the king I sentence you to death!"

"For Angrenost!" someone in the crowd shouted.

"May Angvard bless you, my Queen!" someone else shouted. Others where joining in now calling to her. She smiled at them, they knew who the rightful royal family where and they would not let her down.

"Say your words. For soon you shall say none!" Lord Isa Creek said. She smiled at him and said.

"I shall thank you." She turned back to the people and they all fell silent. "You are all good people." She began, "each of you, everyone here was their good and their bad points. And I have always admired you for the way that you conduct yourselves." She swept the crowd with her gaze again, her eyes sad. "And since the day my husband died, you have remained faithful, you know the truth. This tyrant will work against you all. He will try to divide you, break you and even kill you. You must remain strong and work together. Hope will be restored to this poor lad of ours. In one of the worst disasters yet to come will shine a light brighter than any sun that will bring you all peace and happiness. A child born in darkness and turmoil will bring light and justice to Alagaesian soil. A true and honest child, a child who will bring about the peaceful era, you will be the reason that light and life come back to this land. You must believe that. You must believe…."

"Get on with it Woman!" the man of the Creek said.

She ignored him and continued, "In yourselves, nurture your children, love one another. And I pray you look after my daughters, watch over them and help them. They more than anything need support need you, the good people of Alagaesia to help them. That is the only thing that I ask of you. Be loving to each other, be friends, then at least the mad man will not crumble you from within."

She stepped back and at once the whole square erupted into noise as they all blessed her. Then as the noose was put around her neck the square fell silent, everyone fell to their knees, taking off their hats and lowering their heads. All except one group watching from a balcony above, she saw him, and his little minions around him. She did not care. Her heart sped up again as if it could sense her imminent death.

They did not offer her the hood, perhaps they thought to torment the people by watching as she slowly died. I'm coming my love. She thought I'm coming.

Next second the trapdoor was released from beneath her feet and she felt the rope tighten around her throat. Not long now, she told herself as she fought the urge to fight against the thing holding her in place, to free herself, she forced herself to remain limp. If she fought they would only kill her with a sword. The world slowly faded, as the air in her body died, and the lack of air made her dizzy. The world was going, going…. Before the blackness came the last thing she was her girls, Bellrel, Sweetgem, and Teardrop were staring at her with wide frightened eyes. The poor children, being forced to watch such a terrible thing. She wished she could help them, stop them from watching this but she couldn't. The black dots in front of her vision were getting larger with every passing second as her body lost all the air it needed. It screamed at her to give it air, but she couldn't breathe, she couldn't take any air into her lungs at all. The pain was getting worse, so much worse. Then suddenly it stopped and she was completely surrounded by the blackness. She was going back to Angrenost, her love.

Lord Stanza came to consciousness as the pain in his arm intensified. He fought the urge to howl in pain. Was the battle over? Where was he? He felt comfortable lying there; the only thing that bothered him was his arm. The rest of him felt numb.

"Take it easy My Lord!" someone scolded him as he tried to sit up, dizziness took over him and he felt sick. "Lie back now!" someone pushed against his good shoulder and he gladly lay back, feeling the dizziness receding slightly.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes, he was staring up at the yellow fabric of a tent, a healer's tent he thought, but where was Merelda.

"Merelda," he murmured softly feeling how dry his throat felt, he was surprised, how long he been here.

"Her ladyship is fine my lord." the soft voice said, "I will have message sent to her; she wanted to know as soon as you had come round."

"How long…?" he trialled off leaving his question hanging, the healer, who Stanza now saw had long golden hair, a warm smile and bright green eyes. Nothing compared to his…. No, Lady Merelda. He had to stop calling her his, she did not belong to him. She would marry someone else, someone more important than he was.

"Only a few hours My Lord. Your arm is in a bad way."

"My arm?" he asked dazed. "What's wrong with my arm?"

"An arrow pierced it, all the way through, a lot of damage was done, I'm sorry my lord you might loose your hand, or at best the function of it."

He stared at her stunned, his arm! He might never get to use his arm again, and that was at best! No! This wasn't happening! The woman left leaving him alone. This war had cost him; it had cost them all something but for him. It had cost him the use of his arm or caused him to lose his arm.


	12. Chapter 12

12\. A Light in the Darkness

Kemba kept his face determinedly blank as the defeated queen spoke to her people. His father's words about the royal family; their inexperience of life's hardships and the cruelties of human nature, their excessive physical and emotional sensitivity and their inability at times to realize what was best for the people and prioritize their wishes and budgets accordingly, were immediately swept from his mind. Here, on the platform where many had been crowned, stood the queen herself, meeting her death with as much courage as she had met her life's task. Even her words as she addressed those who stood before her were said to and for her people, without so much as a tremor in her voice.

His eye fell on three girls dressed in black. How like the queen they looked, he thought. They must be her daughters. Their expressions of grief reminded him of the king's when Cathea had died. Their mother must have been good to them, he realized, as good as Cathea had been to Galbatorix. How awful it must be for them to lose their guide, teacher and loving protector so young! He thought of his own mother, imagining how he would feel if she died. He felt nothing.

His eyes travelled to the youngest of the girls, her small slim form swathed in black. Her red hair was tied at the back of her head and her pretty face was pale. She looked so beautiful, yet so helpless, like an injured baby bird, separated from its parents. Behind her wide eyes which had already seen too much, he could see her grief and fear.

A powerful feeling swept over him, like his admiration for Ami, but stronger. Suddenly all he wanted to do was hold her close, shield her from the brutality all around her and watch as she grew into a strong, brave young woman like her mother. He knew she might not welcome any attempt to befriend her, he being a traitor and son of a traitor, but it was worth a try.

As his gaze travelled to the noose, his blood ran cold. Memories of his father's death, the grim whispers, the long nights of fitful sleep as he had lived in a nameless fear and finally the terrible realization that his father was gone and would never come back, flooded his mind as he thought of his nightmare the night before. He tried to push these thoughts from his mind. His father had not been hanged. Anyway, what was happening now was necessary for the greater good. The moment this thought entered his consciousness, it was immediately followed by a feeling of doubt. Was it really necessary to kill such a good woman, even for the sake of a country's growth?

He hated watching executions. It seemed so unfair to rob a person of life in the name of the law. At least there was some honour in dying in combat or surrendering to an illness after fighting long and hard against it. Even when a person died as a result of another's treachery, they still retained a certain amount of dignity, as well as gaining the sympathy of others as they railed and plotted against their attacker. Aside from this, execution violated every moral code, he thought, as it taught men to distrust their neighbours, gave them an easy way to dispose of their enemies and blurred the boundaries between right and wrong, as it left people not knowing whether or not it was right or wrong to kill. Apart from all this, as he gazed at the noose and scaffold, he could not help wondering if these hideous things which would soon cause the death of a good queen had killed his father.

Hastily, he pushed these thoughts aside. Now was not the time to wallow in messy emotions like a petulant child or a lovesick young woman. Now was the time to stand by the king and support him through this difficult time as he eradicated the last threats to his rule. Since the death of Cathea, he had become increasingly afraid of potential rivals for his throne. In his anxious state, he was prone to sudden fits of violent rage and needed the calming presence of his favourite courtier more than ever.

As the trapdoor was released, he repressed a shiver. In his mind, he was dragged back to that awful night when he had learned that his father had died. "Death from above!" he heard his mother murmur grimly to one of his aunts. "Gosh, how awful for him!" Aunt Trudy had exclaimed, her booming voice ringing through the corridor. "How shameful! Imagine, vanishing from the earth, to be forgotten by all he knew!"

Kemba had crept nervously out of his bedroom just in time to see Aunt Trudy hurrying away, holding her skirt above her feet as she descended the stairs. Her husband Uncle Casca turned from talking to Kemba's mother. "Your father's dead," he informed him shortly.

It had taken several moments for these words to sink in. Kemba had stared numbly at his uncle. His father couldn't be dead, he thought. He was a very healthy man, who did not believe in drinking alcohol for pleasure. He had many enemies in court, but had always managed to avoid open combat with them.

"How did it happen?" he asked, watching his uncle's face carefully. He might be trying to trick him, as he often did, in the hope of making him do something reckless so that he would gain his inheritance. Kemba had learned it was better to play along in a way that forced him to reveal the truth behind his lie.

"No one knows," Uncle Casca murmured and Kemba noticed for the first time how pale his face was. He was a good actor, as were all descendants of the great Orum, but this was different. The only time he had ever seen his uncle this pale, aside from the time he had caught a fever as a result of a jousting injury, was when his father, Lord Judas had died mysteriously after a scandal involving a young woman, a ship of expensive silks and a stolen horse. According to those who had told the family of the event, he had received death from above for his deeds. As Kemba remembered the fear which had gripped the household for the next few months, the endless nights of gathering in the observatory, watching the skies anxiously in case of anything falling towards them. If Uncle Casca's words were true, Lord Ricardo had met the same fate.

As the body fell, a cry of outrage tore from the crowd. Kemba's stomach churned and a lump suddenly burned in his throat, as if he had swallowed something too large. To look at the dead queen now horrified him. This beautiful, courageous, gentle and determined woman was dead, her life extinguished by her enemies. Worse, he had caused it.

For a moment, he wished he had not been born to the Ricardo family and their responsibilities. If he had been the son of any other lord, he could have avoided betraying the royal family and gone on with his life, aware of, but not worried by changes in royal or political affairs. Why had fate destined him to this, a life of treachery and turmoil keeping watch over the life of Alagaesia?

A second later, he pushed these thoughts from his mind. He was a descendant of the great Orum and that was his place in the world. He could not change that and not did he wish to, as his father had been good to him, even though he had died under mysterious circumstances. All he could hope to do was make the best of his circumstances and use his influence to help those he cared about.

Once the body had been cut down, the crowd dispersed. The king wandered back into his palace, surrounded by his attendants, having ordered the corpse to be thrown into a pauper's grave. Kemba waited until the grubby little man charged to bury her had disappeared, then crept towards the shallow pit which served as her grave and carefully lifted her out and carried her away from the city to a plain teeming with trees, wild flowers and pretty little shrubs.

She was lighter than he had expected and her expression of almost perfect serenity betrayed nothing of the fear, resentment and anger she must have felt at her execution. She was beautiful too, even in death, her long red hair still catching the breeze and fluttering gently, like the wings of an aged butterfly. Quickly, Kemba put these thoughts from his mind, remembering grimly the ancient adage that "Every man with a conquest must be devoted; to his quest enough to kill those who stand in his way, and to his conscience enough to bury with dignity those who die at his hand," and buried her in the shadow of a large poplar tree.

Then, using the magic he had inherited from his parents, he summoned a boulder from within the earth and carved a headstone from it. As he gazed at his handiwork, he thought of the girl he had seen at the hanging and his heart ached for her. Before he knew what he was doing, he was scratching a message into the headstone, spilling his thoughts into the words as he wished for the power to turn back time. When he finally paused for breath, the epitaph on the gravestone read:

Here lies Heldra, the mother of Alagaesia

The rightful queen and guide of many

May her name and nature live on forever!

It was a succinct message. If he had written any more, he might have let slip something of the new, unsettling feelings in his heart. Still, he hoped Heldra and her daughters would appreciate it. With a sigh, he knelt, murmured a quick prayer, asking the Orum to watch over her spirit, then rose and walked away.

Court that evening was a lively affair. Lords swayed drunkenly as they fought to get into court and pay their hasty respects to the king before beginning the night's drinking. Their wives and the unmarried women of court smiled sweetly at him, murmuring sweet words as they curtsied. The king would smile upon seeing them, making them flush with pleasure, their faces displaying the fantasies in their hearts; of power, riches and a respite from the demands of their oafish husbands. Normally, the clumsy attempts of the nobility to win the king's favor would have amused him, but tonight his mind was fixed on only one thing; the young girl he had seen at the execution. Where was she now? Was she safe? Images of her struggling to free herself from the clutches of some unscrupulous lord, bound in chains as a slave and worse drifted through his mind, making his heart pound with anxiety.

After Galbatorix's supporters came the rebels, those lords and ladies the king had decided to spare for reasons of his own. They came close together, some slowly and hesitantly, as though they dreaded what they were going to, others walking confidently, standing tall and resolute in quiet defiance of their enemies. Kemba watched them coming and smiled grimly. The revolution was truly underway, he thought with a surge of exhilaration. Whatever the king might say, this was the most dangerous time in his reign. Some of these devotees to the old king would perish or fall into line, their rebellious spirits broken. Others, however, would spread their discontentment to the people and start a revolt.

How he loved being a nobleman! Wealth and a long history within the royal court gave a man so much power, as long as he was careful. He had often heard it said that money talks and it was true. He did not really believe the coins in his pocket could talk, but it seemed to him as if his wealth acted like another form of magic, compelling those around him to help him in times of need when his own strength and cunning could not. Every day was like a chess game, in which every word, gesture and action represented a move which could change his or someone else's life for better or worse. Now that Galbatorix was king, the excitement and fear of a lord's life was bound to increase, he thought happily.

Then, as he thought of that girl again and fell to dreaming of how it would feel to have her on his arm, his smile faded. She was so young, innocent and fragile. Being a princess, she was probably sensitive too, since she had probably led a very sheltered life before her mother's death. If he married her, he would have to give up at least some of the thrills which came with his position, for her sake.

"Today has brought us a great victory," proclaimed King Galbatorix once everyone was seated, bringing Kemba out of his reverie. "The last remnant of the enemy have been exterminated and we can at last begin making plans for the future." The lords cheered loudly, the room ringing with their exuberant yells and hiccoughing. As he watched them, Kemba caught sight of Lord Percy, a ward of his mother's, sitting among them, his pale face reddening with the effects of too much ale. He was a tall man with shoulder-length brown hair, which looked rather foolish under the blonde wig he often sported in an attempt to look more like a member of the Ricardo family. His eyes were hazel and as dull as old coins which had lost their shine, but grew brighter when he was happy or angry. Right now, they were gleaming with excitement, his expression like that of a child who is about to see a show or receive a present. What a fool, Kemba thought, despising him as he always did. What a simple-minded, easily led fool!

Just then, he caught sight of a young woman sitting beside the king. She was tall and slim with large grey eyes. Her face was pale, her expression identical to that of her mother as she had awaited her execution. Her slender form was clad in black and the torn remains of what had been a widow's veil entangled in her long black hair.

Anger surged through Kemba. How dare anyone treat a woman so shamefully! Clearly her husband had died, either as a result of the battle which had led to Galbatorix's enthronement or the king's fervent desire to kill those he regarded as a threat. Yet now, judging by her torn veil and the way Galbatorix was holding her, one arm around her waist, pinning her to his side, he intended to take her as a concubine, widowing and shaming her in one day! Did this man have no principles, he wondered. He had seen many women and children carried off as plunder after battles his family had been involved in, but his father had always taught him to treat any such captive with respect and punished him and his other children very severely if they did not.

For a moment, he considered stabbing the king in his red-clad gut, as he would any of his men who took advantage of a bereaved woman. Then, an instant later, he put the matter from his mind. It would he unbecoming of him to raise a hand against the man who had allowed him to live in such luxury as he did now, especially as he was a nobleman and had helped him to get the position he now held. The king would get his comeuppance sooner or later, he reminded himself. "A king's time as ruler rises and falls like the sun," his father had often told him. "A kingmaker must not seek to earn his title more times than the sun breaks the darkness in a day." Another favourite saying of his was "Whatever you create, another will cast asunder, for all is vanity." He was right, Kemba reflected and turned his attention back to what his king was saying.

"Of the rebel family, two women remain, beautiful women who have not yet known a man intimately," he was announcing to the room at large. The woman beside him glared at him, then turned her disdainful gaze on a group of lords who were looking at her as though she were a gift they could not wait to unwrap. Seeing their expressions, the king smirked. "Not her," he said, quietly, his voice acquiring a menacing undertone. "She's mine."

He now produced a portrait of a pretty young girl of about sixteen with long black hair and large dark eyes. Every lord in the room gazed at it hungrily. Her features looked very much like at he queen's, thought Kemba, then realized she must be one of the surviving royal women the king was talking about. She looked beautiful, strong and proud, despite her current situation, wherever she was, but she was not his girl.

"Let any man who wishes to wed her step forward," ordered Galbatorix. A large number of lords stampeded forward, jostling to be first in line. They were behaving like children, thought Kemba, watching Lord Percy pull out his sword and begin duelling fiercely with Lord Fisher. The king smiled with amusement and leaned back in his throne, watching the pandemonium as he would a play and even applauding those who seemed to be winning.

This lasted for almost half an hour. Lord Halstead won and seemed to glide forward in his blue and gold robes to receive his prize. "Well fought, my lord," the king smiled. "You will be glad to know you will be married tomorrow." "Thank you, my liege," gasped Lord Halstead, mopping his brow from the exertion of fighting.

"Bad luck, Percy," Kemba whispered, noticing Lord Percy's forlorn expression, like a child who has lost his favourite toy or realized he will not be receiving a desired toy. Lord Percy said nothing, but quietly picked up his goblet and began drinking again as the second portrait was produced. Kemba looked up and just managed not to gasp as he saw it. There, in the picture, was his girl, his dream, his pride and joy, his...

No, no, he rebuked himself silently. She was a girl, not a pretty trinket. She was pretty, there was no denying that, but she was also a person, with wants, hopes, dreams and feelings. He must not think of her as his. As much as he longed to take her in and cherish her as his, she would most likely hate him if they met. After all, she was a princess, a child of a very noble family, while he was a traitor by birth, according to the new king. Even so, he thought, he had to try.

"If any man wishes to take this girl as his wife, let him step forward now," said Galbatorix, still smiling. Before he knew what he was doing, Kemba was out of his seat and striding towards the dais on which the throne was mounted. All thoughts of self-restraint had forsaken him now. All he wanted was to secure his claim to the girl of his dreams.

Someone pushed past him. Recognizing the pesky lord as Percy, Kemba tripped him and walked on. Traitor, he thought furiously as other lords surged forward to join in the fray.

The battle seemed to last for hours. Around him, Kemba could hear the yelps, gasps, squeals and groans of his opponents as he trounced them, the slurred cheering of the spectators and the voice of the king shouting advice to one lord, then another. Throughout the skirmish, he could feel the king's gaze on him, watching him, appraising him, seeming almost to draw strength from his struggles. After a while, however, he forgot this. He forgot he was in court. He forgot his opponents were lords, of almost the same status as himself. All he knew was that he was fighting his opponents to win the hand and, hopefully, the heart, of the little red-haired girl. In his mind, he was home again, battling his brother, uncles, aunts, mother and every castle kid to win the ultimate prize. He was the son of Lord Ricardo, living his instincts.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to his senses. "I knew you would win," chuckled the king, pulling him to his feet. "I cannot say I think much of your sense of chivalry, though. Perhaps you need a wife!" "Indeed, Sire," replied Kemba, realizing with embarrassment that his tunic was red with blood. To his relief, it was not his own. That would have been so embarrassing, he thought.

"You will be glad to know," Galbatorix went on, holding up a hand for silence, "that you will wed the woman tomorrow." He laughed again and handed Kemba the portrait. "Thank you, Your Majesty," smiled Kemba, unable to take his eyes from the lovely image. "When shall I be permitted to meet her?"

"Eager, aren't we?" grinned the king, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now go and clean yourself up. I will not have my courtroom smelling of blood! It ruins the fragrance of the spring air!" Several ladies and those lords who had not fought against him chuckled at this. Kemba smiled and left the room, his heart soaring as he gazed in wonder at the portrait of his beloved.

As he bathed and changed his clothes in the bathroom of his apartments, he wondered how the king had known he would win the fight, why he had called him off, but not the others, and most importantly what the name of his bride-to-be was. In his mind, he went through the names of the royal children, discarding those of the boys, though he liked the name Alda. Perhaps he should keep that for his firstborn son, if he had one. Alda Kembasson. It had a curious ring to it. On second thoughts, naming a child after what had been the crown prince was dangerous. It was the work of a moment to switch one of the letters to form a truly powerful name. Elda Kembasson.

He knew his wife could not be Belrel. Her hair was black and she was the eldest girl. Nor could she be Merelda, for she had only been a baby when he had last seen her, which would make her eight years old now, if she was still alive. He dismissed the idea of her being Teardrop, Rosemary or Lovissa, as they were older than she had looked. She must be either Abriosia or Sweetgem, he realized and smiled broadly.

Morzan watched the Hyen as it gazed imploringly at him with big, hungry brown eyes. The pounding hearts, ragged breathing and small cries of terror emanating from the captives must be driving it insane, he thought sympathetically. Nevertheless, he tightened his grip on the small child Galbatorix had given him for the purpose of training his charges. Something about him looked familiar, as if he were related to him, but he dismissed this thought quickly. He was a servant of the right and noble king, a Rider and the master of the wild creatures of Alagaesia, nothing more, nothing less.

"Stay," he commanded. "Do not move." The creature sat back on its haunches, beginning to dribble as it stared at the now trembling boy. The other watched from a corner of the room, where Morzan had left it lying on a rough blanket while he trained its fellow.

With one smooth gesture, he opened his hand, releasing the child who ran blindly into the maze to hide with the other prisoners doomed to die. It had been quite a clever idea to do this at night, he thought. That way, not only would this little rebel surely die before he could threaten Galbatorix's rule, not knowing the way out of the maze, but the Hynea would get some practice at using their tracking skills at night.

Once the child had disappeared into the darkness, Morzan gave him five seconds' head start, and then turned back to the Hyen. "I told you I would not keep you here for long," he told it, stroking its head affectionately. "Not for long at all." The creature sent forth a loud hunting cry, then padded away, sniffing the air for the boy's scent. The other watched it go, growling enviously.

"Your time will come soon," Morzan murmured soothingly as the first returned with the bloodstained remains of the child in its jaws. "Good boy," he commended it, patting its head. "Now sit quietly while I train your sister." The female leapt up from the blanket as her brother took her place, her form changing into that of a young woman with long blonde hair, her favourite form apart from her own. "You look beautiful," Morzan laughed. "Now watch carefully." He clicked his fingers, which was the signal for a soldier to come forward with another young prisoner.

As he set about training the female Hyen to track prey in the dark, Morzan felt his heart swell with pride. These creatures were far more intelligent than they were given credit for and he had trained them. Since his promotion, he had been hard at work training them to hunt more effectively, fight for longer, speak, show respect to a human superior and use human weaponry. He kept them at it for eight hours every day and was amazed at what he had taught them so far.

The female already knew a few words and could hold a simple conversation before her nature got the better of her. The male had been harder to train in this area, but was a master of weaponry. In a few months, Morzan thought, they would be ready to face the world as the king's deadliest, most powerful weapons.

Once the tracking lesson was over, Morzan decided to teach them some new words. Holding up the sword the male was about to snatch, he said loudly and clearly "This is a sword." "Sword!" roared the brute, lunging for it and knocking Morzan to the ground.

Morzan laughed, despite himself, and rubbed the Hyen's head before handing him the sword. The female watched, her eyes burning with jealousy. "Give me sword!" she roared, rushing towards them, her teeth bared in a feral snarl.

Look, growled Mosiel, landing just behind her. Castle. Lights. Meat. Run and get what you want. At these words, the female Hyen turned away from Morzan and began sprinting towards the palace, baying for blood. Her brother tore after her, still clutching his precious sword.

"No!" exclaimed Morzan, giving chase. "Stop! Where're you going?" Catching sight of Mosiel sitting nonchalantly on what had been a neatly pruned bush, he rounded on him furiously. "What were you playing at?" he snapped. "I had them perfectly under control and you go and distract them! Now they're heading for the palace, you fool! The king might well be in danger now because you just set two Hynea on him!" Well, sorry! Snapped Mosiel. I was just trying to help you. "Thanks a lot," Morzan retorted. "Let's get to the palace before they cause any real trouble."

Shruikan crept out of the too-small human dwelling-place, closing his ears to the shrieking of his false Rider's companions as he went. Through the false mind-bond he shared with the mad gold-horned hairless two-legs leader, he could sense his triumph and satisfaction, like that of a predator catching its prey. His false partner of heart and mind was happy. Let him be, thought Shruikan, blocking him from his mind and turning his thoughts to his little two-legs round-ears. What he did not know could not hurt him.

He had learned that the boy's name was Romulus, but everyone around him called him Rom or Brom. Shruikan liked the name Romulus, but he liked the name Brom more. Upon realizing he was called Shruikan, Brom had nodded in an understanding sort of way, but said nothing other than "A pleasure to meet you, Shruikan. I will be glad to help with whatever business you have with me in these mountains, but hope we can also become good friends." If only he knew, Shruikan thought, turning a joyful somersault in the air and humming with pleasure. If only he knew what the future had in store for him!

Brom was in the mountain cave where Shruikan had left him. As he landed, the young human put down the stone he had been using to draw human runes on the cave wall and ran to him. "Hello Shruikan," he smiled, reaching out tentatively to rub his scales with his soft, warm pink upper paw. Greetings, little one, replied Shruikan. How are you?

"I am well, thank you," replied Brom. "How are you faring?" Much better now I'm here, replied Shruikan, surprised and glad someone cared about how he felt. This was so different to life with Galbatorix, he thought, and he liked it a lot!


	13. Chapter 13

13\. Where once we walked.

She stood watching her eyes wide as her mothers body hung limply from the rope, her yes now lifeless. She felt Bellrel take her arm and lead her away but she saw nothing but the image of her mother. She was dead, her mother queen Heldra of Alagaesia was dead, and she knew that her other siblings would follow. She knew in her heart that this numbness she felt would not last long, that soon other feelings would come. But she refused to cry. Not where others could see her, she would be strong like her mother, like her brother would be when his time came.

But that came sooner than she thought. Once again in the late afternoon of that very same day it was time to stand outside in front of the scaffold waiting. The rain that had started several hours ago had grown heavier.

"This day…" Alda began, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he surveyed the crowd. "This day is a symbol of much grief." How he sounded like father. She thought, remembering her father as he read to them as children. Alda held her tightly as she sat on his knee, wondering at the talk of the adults.

"Your tutor says you're excelling in your swordplay." Her father commented

Pleased,

"Thank you father." Alda had said smiling; she loved it when he smiled it made her feel warm and content. He seemed to know what she was thinking before she knew. And it was he out of all her siblings that she felt able to talk to.

"Rise and fall with the wheel." He would say whenever she complained or spoke of the misfortunes of her friends and the people. You must rise and Fall with the wheel, little sister, take the good and the bad and make it something better."

"What the Wheel Al?" she had asked, she hadn't been sure whether or not he had meant a wheel on a carriage or wagon.

"The wheel of fortune. We rise and then at some point we all, but there is always a chance that we may rise again." Alda had said and then another voice spoke and they both looked round to see their mother standing in the doorway, her red hair flowing over her shoulders.

"We all go through good times and bad times, it is a matter of whether we continue to look in the good in life and find ways out of the darkness that we make who we are, the wheel might dictate our fates, in the paths we make, but we in the end are in control of ourselves. We alone can make who we are, it is important that you learn that sometimes bad things may happen, but you must remain strong little one, you must remain yourself." She stared at her mother wide eyed. The Queen came further into the room and knelt by the chair. Taking her daughters hand and gazing into her eyes. She stared back completely mesmerized. "Sweet child, you are so young, the paths of misfortune will come, and all we can do is wait our fate as women is placed in the hands of men, our husbands."

"I will change that." Alda said firmly, wrapping an arm around her. "When I am king all that shall change and women will find a friend in me, and be treated as equals!"

The queen smiled up at him and gently touched his arm. "Yes Alda you will be a great king. I have always known it. One day you will be king."

"That he will." Father spoke from by the fire and smiled at his queen. "And you, my love will be responsible for that!" Her mother had smiled then, so tender and so warm, she could almost feel heat radiating off her. She was so happy, so content that she could speak freely in front of her family.

She had buried her head in Alda's chest wishing she could stay there

forever.

She pulled herself away from the memories, the wheel had changed and they

had fallen, indeed they had fallen very low indeed. And her brother would

never become a king, and for sure Alagaesia had fallen into darkness.

That night as a maid combed her long red hair, she wondered at the feelings inside her, she had been right, the numb feeling that had plagued her all day was beginning to fade and another emotion crept in. though she knew better than too show it. An emotion like that could ruin lives. She would have to be careful with what she did with it. She would have to use to protect herself, against that tyrant, to bring him down for good.

That night she dreamt of her mother and Alda, and the way things used to be.

At points during the night she woke with a start sobbing uncontrollably. But she would only do that here, in the privacy of her bed chamber, no one would know that she had been crying. A princess does not cry. She is strong and she is good, she would not let those people learn of her weakness.

She got a shock next morning, one of the usurpers messengers, who had come to tell her that she would be getting "married!" she said staring at him impassively. "To who?"

"To his Lordship Lord Kemba of the Ricardo family."

She was shocked, it was bad enough that she had to live in this place knowing what was happening to her elder sister, who grew quieter and quitter every day, but she also had to marry a man who could betray her in an instant! A man who betrayed her father because he could! She didn't care what his family traditions where! He was the reason he whole family was dead! The reason why she had lost everything!

"I will not marry him!" she said holding her head high, her hands clasped before he resting neatly against her black dress, she might only be 12 but she knew more than they gave her credit for.

"You must." The man said simply, and he really did look sympathetic, did he work for that man unwillingly, "please Princ… my lady, you must."

"I would rather die and become one with my family than marry a traitor like him."

"Please, my lady, you are the only symbol of light in this dark world. A sign of hope for those of us who are trapped, please!"

She considered it was true that she would be able to rebel more easily against the man alive. She ached to be with her mother again. But this way she could make that man's life a misery somehow. Right now she didn't know what she would do or how she would do it, but she knew that she would make him wish he had never taken the throne.

"Very well," she said, still in that impassive tone, "I will consent to marry the man!" may a thousand pots of fir fall on his head! She cursed to herself. For he had a part in her misery, he was part responsible.

The sling felt comfortable against his arm, giving him some relief. He had promised himself that he would do all his could to reduce the chances of loosing his arm. It was important for one. How else was he supposed to wield his sword and fight in a battle with only one arm, he would become a liability and that he refused to become.

As promised Merelda came to see him and by the time she arrived he was sitting up in his cot eating a piece of bread.

"There is someone here to see you Milord!" Another healer said this one had dark hair, blue eyes and tanned skin. She must be from one of the tribes, he thought.

"My lady," he said, standing far too quickly and nearly toppling over. A hand grabbed hold of him and gently helped him back to the cot.

"I did not have you brought to the healers and healed just so you could get up again and kill yourself." She smiled, sitting down beside him. She waited while the dizziness he felt receded again. "How do you feel?" she asked after a few moment of silence. Her sweet quiet voice washing over him like a waterfall, he could listen to her speak all day.

"Much better thank you." He said, looking at her, she seemed unharmed; the battle had not damaged her. He sighed with relief if anyone had harmed her he would take them to one side, get his sword and….

"Good," she said interrupting his thoughts, of what he would like to do to any man who hurt his love…. Mistress, oh no that was the wrong word too, his beloved… no, he cursed himself again, his liege lord, the Lady Merelda that was better.

"What have I missed? Did we win the battle? How many did we lose?"

"Slow down Stanza." She said, "Your recovering from an injury there will be time for that later. But I can confirm that we did win the battle, we are getting closer to our goal, a free country for the people of this country!" she smiled and instinctively he smiled.

"What's the next stop?" he asked, wishing to prolong this conversation, he loved talking to her.

"Now we recover, regroup. Another battle may be close at hand and we want to be ready for it. But that means I need my best men in full health to fight, so do as your told Stanza!"

"I will." He said, privately thinking, "I will do as your say and more, no matter what it is, my love."

They spent some time together talking; it was one of the best days of his life, spending time with the woman he loved. He wished she knew how he felt, but at the same time he withdrew from the idea, if she knew that he, a mere lord, a man lower in rank to, loved her she would surely turn away from him.

But then he remembered the day she had lost her husband, the day they had fled and how she had cried clinging to him as if he were her lifeline. Perhaps there was hope after all. Perhaps she might love him.

"Will you join me in a walk?" Merelda asked. "can he?" she turned to a healer.

"As long as he does not overdo it my lady, I don't see why not." She smiled sweetly at the healer, and Stanza felt his heart melt.

"Do you want to come with me?"

"Of course, My Lady, it would be an honour,"

"How many times must I tell you Stanza to call me Merelda?"

"Too many times for one person to count." He smiled and she smiled back. She linked his arm, his good arm, and together they left the healers tent.

The sun was shining brightly which only served to increase the heat, the southern part of Alagaesia always baked beneath the hot sun, when it rained it only brought a short period of release from the intense heat but then the sun would come out again and they would all roast under it's white hot glare.

Perhaps the sun was against them in their venture. Perhaps it wanted them to fail, why else would it watch over them and drain them of any strength they had. Hopefully as winter approached the weather would begin to cool down and they could recover properly, with this heat infections thrived and disease washed through their army like a flood.

"I am worried." Merelda said, "if this war continues as it is, we will have nothing left and we all die."

"We have claimed a lot of new land my lady." Stanza said trying to sound reassuring. "It won't be long now, another few weeks, months or years and we will have our country."

"But the men…"

"All know what they are fighting for and the risks, if they didn't want to fight then they wouldn't be here. They want this, my lady; they want to be free, in our Surda."

"Surda?" she looked at him questioningly.

"It's a term that my family use to refer to freedom. It means Paradise."

She looked at him thoughtfully then. "That is what we shall call our new country, it shall be known as Surda, the paradise for the free!"


	14. Chapter 14

14\. A Match To Kindle Many Fires

Kemba checked his appearance yet again. He always took care to dress and behave in ways which befitted his position as a nobleman, but today he needed to look his best. If Abriosia or Sweetgem saw him looking at all scruffy, unkempt or in any way unattractive, she might not want to marry him.

He shook himself. He was acting like a common lord, fussing over his appearance so much! He must put aside this ridiculous vanity or he would soon find himself unmarried. Besides, the princess might hate him for being part of the reason her family were dead. As much as he loved her, he must give her time to adjust to her new circumstances, protecting her where necessary, leaving her to herself when she needed time alone and perhaps one day she might grow to love him.

A knock at the door jolted him out of his thoughts. "Enter," he called, bracing himself for a fight if any of his family were outside. He hoped it would not come to that, though. Fighting in smart clothes was hardly professional, as it showed that, however civilized a man may appear, he could not fully overcome his bestial instincts.

At his words, the door opened noiselessly and in walked Balaam, clutching a breakfast tray which contained a bowl of buckwheat porridge, a cup of coffee and an orange. "Good morning, my Lord," he greeted him. "Good morning Balaam," replied Kemba with a relieved smile. "How do I look?"

Balaam chuckled wheezily. "Quite dapper, sir," he replied. "How queer you young people are, fretting endlessly over your appearances, yet ridiculing those who do!" Kemba considered this remark as he ate, ignoring the churning of his stomach.

In a few short hours, he would be married. The thought excited and frightened him. In a few hours, that beautiful girl he had thought and dreamed about since the previous day would enter his household and become a member of his family. Yet, hostile as she might be towards him, he was confident she would never be as aggressive as his mother, brother and other relations.

Then he remembered she was a princess and therefore unable to fight. He would have to protect her from the machinations of his family, no matter how resentful she was towards him. It was his duty as her loving husband, even if he did dread the pain the upcoming battles would lead to.

Once he had finished eating, he called Ami to his chamber. She came as quickly as ever, but there was a heaviness in her step which boded ill. Upon seeing her, Kemba stood and took her into his arms, enfolding her as he often dreamed of doing with the little red-haired princess who had stolen his heart. "Ami, are you well?" he murmured.

"As well as I can be, My Lord," she replied quietly. Her voice had a clipped, slightly choked quality about it, as though she were on the verge of tears. Kemba held her closer and stroked her hair, his heart pounding with worry. Something was wrong with Ami.

"What is on your mind, my fair lady?" he asked. "I sense that you are troubled and would help you if it is in my power to do so." He knew she would not fully understand all he said, but was certain she would realize what he meant to say. Besides, she liked learning new words.

"I heard that my father is ill, My Lord," replied Ami huskily. "Please, I must go to see him." "Naturally," replied Kemba, feeling like a brute as he remembered the reason he had summoned her. She was frightened and sad at her father's illness and yet he had called her here to tell her he was getting married, as if that would make a difference to her situation, not to mention reminding her of her position, a slave in a war-torn country, at her master's disposal, to be taken up and dropped at his whim.

Hastily, he put these thoughts from his mind. He was being far too emotional. Ami was worried, but certainly not resentful or she would have let him know about it. He, on the whole, treated her well, as much on account of her brains and boldness as her beauty. She trusted him, despite the misunderstandings which had occurred during her first few days in his household. Why else would she be coming to him to discuss something which meant so much to her?

Then it occurred to him that it might be best if Ami were out of the way before Abriosia or Sweetgem arrived. If the princess saw her, she might envy her beauty and make her life miserable or assume her to be Kemba's concubine and be angry at him. He loved both women equally, but knew his heart was too weak to handle either possibility.

"Go home, Ami," he told her, releasing her at last. "Your father needs you. Do you know your way from here?" "Yes," she replied, regaining her usual determined air. Kemba smiled, got to his feet and led her to the stables, pausing only to fill a pack with food supplies from the kitchen. "Bring me Bertha," he instructed the groom once they got there. "This young woman has a long way to go." The groom looked astonished. "But My Lord," he stammered. "She is your brother Lord Henry's..." "I know," replied Kemba smoothly, smiling at Ami.

As she rode off into distance, he watched the brown and white horse and its rider disappearing into the mist of the overcast morning. Be strong, Ami, friend of my scaly soul, he thought. May fair winds guide you to your family and may we one day meet again. Then he turned and walked away, towards the waiting carriage which would take him to his bride.

Before he knew it, he was standing in the shadowy cathedral of Uru'Baen, waiting for his wedding to begin. The priest was busy opening the enormous doors as the unmistakeable sounds of carriage wheels and horses' hooves came from outside. Kemba swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he awaited the arrival of his bride-to-be.

For the first time, he began to wonder if he was truly ready to marry. He thought of all the people he knew who were or had been married; Uncle Casca and Aunt Trudy, his parents, Uncle Mark and Aunt Cleo and all his other adult relatives. They all seemed to have such unpredictable relationships, he reflected, head over heels in love with each other and defending each other to the hilt one moment and doing all within their power to tear each other apart, physically, emotionally and mentally the next. His father was dead and his mother barely acknowledged him. For a moment, he imagined the girl of his dreams lying, as she might be if he was careless, pale and motionless, possibly covered in blood, as she gasped out her last breaths, and his heart filled with panic. How could he let such a beautiful young woman enter such a hostile and dangerous situation, when she might not even love him?

As the young lady was led through the cathedral doors, however, dressed from head to foot in navy blue, a simple golden locket being her only adornment, all such musings vanished from his mind. She might be young, but she was certainly strong, he thought with relief and a hint of amusement. Smiling at her subtle rebellion, he stepped forward, wanting to speak to her, but not knowing what to say.

Before he could think of a suitable remark, a loud fanfare of trumpets heralded the arrival of King Galbatorix, dressed in splendid red and gold robes. Kemba's heart sank, but he continued to smile, thinking of the protocol he must observe before his master and the princess who would soon live with him.

He scanned the rows of seats. None of his family were there, to his relief. Most of the seats were filled by the king's favourite lords, ladies and courtiers. There were even a few ambassadors, he noted, from all manner of countries with whom the new king wished to ally. Best of all, as he gazed from Lord Feraal's dark head to Lord Zenwin's pale shaved one, he noticed the familiar reddish-black hair, shrewd dark eyes and carefully lacquered beard of Lord Shu'al, his lifelong friend and, beside him his wife, Lady Khatula.

"Getting hitched at last, are you, Kemby me lad?" he asked, grinning as Kemba moved to stand beside the young woman. He was dressed in his finest suit, a black one with a faint sheen of red when the fabric from which it was made caught the light. "Yes," replied Kemba, his nerves settling at last. Whenever Lord Shu'al was nearby, it felt to him like nothing could ever go wrong in the world again.

The priest now moved to his place before the altar. A chilly winter breeze swept through the cathedral. The young princess shivered. The movement was so slight that no one but Kemba noticed, yet it worried him. He wished the priest would stop rifling through his huge leather-bound book and get on with the ceremony.

At last, after much muttering from the guests, he was ready. He cleared his throat, the sound echoing around the huge stone building like the ragged, haggard cry of a tormented spirit. Then, at last, he began, his breath coming in wheezy gasps as he intoned the ancient words with which so many people had been bound to one another. They would be quite beautiful, Kemba thought, if the meaning they had once held had not been drained away by centuries of dutiful repetition.

"We gather here today, in the sight of Angvard and His Majesty King Galbatorix, ruler of Alagaesia, lead Rider of the Order of Dragon Riders, Supreme Chief Magician, Master of Rolls and Lord of Uru'Baen, to witness the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honourable estate, instituted by Angvard and, of course, his divine earthly representative the king, at a time of man's innocence." As the priest paused for breath after this impressive speech, Kemba caught the young woman's eye and noticed her carefully hidden expression of incredulous anger and contempt for the man now called the king. At any other time, he would have smiled at the absurdity of the words, reassuring her by this gesture that he no more supported the king than he did the ancient and outlawed dragon skin trade, but now he did not dare. Besides, he could see Lord Percy in the crowd and did not wish him to get any ideas which could endanger the young princess.

The priest now turned to him. "Do you, Lord Kemba, son of Lord Ricardo and Lady Beaufort, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?" he asked, a few locks of his white hair falling out from under his white clerical wig. "I do," replied Kemba, raising his eyes to his bride, who met his gaze with unblinking, fearless eyes. How beautiful she was, thought Kemba, even behind a veil.

The priest then addressed himself to the princess. "Do you take Lord Kemba to be your lawful wedded husband?" he asked. Kemba felt a stab of annoyance at the man, but carefully hid it behind his usual courtly expression. Could he not even be bothered to pronounce the name and titles of the woman, broken though she might be, standing before him? Silently he swore to always acknowledge and respect the young princess if and when she became a member of his household.

The princess hesitated for an instant. Kemba's heart skipped a beat. If she refused him, the king might just hand her over to another lord or an executioner. Yet she clearly had no desire to marry him, even if she did hide it well behind her neutral expression. Silently he prayed to the Orum, pleading with the mighty Serpent to watch over and protect her, whatever may happen.

"I do," she replied and Kemba felt his muscles relax as he breathed again. Her voice was so beautiful, he thought, soft and melodious, yet filled with the strength which comes of being raised with power and taught how to use it. To hear it sent shivers of delight down his spine and he would willingly have given anything, even his very soul, just to hear it one more time.

As they went through the vows, the priest rushing through them, Kemba's mind was elsewhere. Each time he heard the voice of his young bride dutifully repeating the words she was instructed to say, he would smile inwardly, imagining her when she was older, commanding servants, perhaps even an entire army of rebels as they prepared to fight against the king. "We will not allow ourselves to be broken, no matter what he throws at us!" she would say. "For you are the future of Alagaesia; you, your sons daughters, brothers and sisters. Let us unite, to build that glorious future." He smiled dreamily, thinking of the future.


	15. Chapter 15

15\. New Beginnings.

Sweetgem stared at the man who was now her husband with an impassive expression. Thoughts chased each other around in her head, what kind of a husband would he be to her? Would he be good to her? Or would he become one of those men who loved to torment his wife? He was a traitor, she knew, a man who could easily change his allegiance as she changed her dress everyday. But that might not show his true colours. She would have to wait to find out.

Another thought crossed her mind, did her mother feel this way on her wedding day, and was Queen Heldra nervous and unwilling on her wedding day as her daughter was now? And what of her brother and sister where they the same? She would never know, Sweetgem had always imagined that she would one day marry a Prince, of another realm and she had known that if that happened she would leave her family behind, but she had always thought that her mother would only be on the other end of a letter if she needed any advice about her husband. But never this, she never thought that it would come to this, that she would have to find her own way in life, separated from her family and disgraced.

She could take the disgrace, that wasn't an issue; she had lived for some of her life in a village in the north for a number of years. No disgrace she could handle, it was the being separated from her family that hurt the most. Having to watch them die, having to watch as the life slipped from them as if they meant nothing.

And she knew that this man, this man who was now her husband had a hand in it. It wasn't just the tyrant; it was him and all his followers, and that boy that used to be her brother. Isgard. Why had he done it? Why had he betrayed them all?

This man might turn against her in the years to come of their marriage and he may mistreat her, but she would never bow to him, or that tyrant! She knew how it went, and she wondered what would become of her and her only surviving sisters. Bellrel she knew had been forced to become that man's mistress. But what of Teardrop?

They turned to the crowd after the bishop pronounced them man and wife, and with her court smile firmly in place, she took the arm of the man who was now her husband, although she would have preferred to hit him with something that would hurt, or chased him around with a big stick and hit him over the head with it. That brought a genuine secretive smile to her lips as she gazed at the other noblemen present. The tyrant sat in the front row, with her sister who wore black, sat next to him, pale and silent.

"Let us now attend the wedding feast!" a lord near to the front shouted. "Long live the happy couple!"

Happy! Happy! Sweetgem didn't know whether the man was stupid or he had taken a bang to the head, but she didn't feel at all happy! Quite the opposite, she felt as if she wanted to curl up into a tight ball and cry. Her sister too looked on the verge of tears, and Sweetgem felt a strong urge to comfort her. Her sister had lost more than she had. Her husband Terrel and her children as well as the rest of their family, to lose your children must be painful beyond any pain. What must she be thinking? Sweetgem thought.

Hours later, Sweetgem sat next to the man she must now call husband at the head of the hall, this was their evening, and as was custom they were given the best seats. She scanned the crowd hoping to catch sight of one of her old friends or sisters but there was no sight of them. Clearly she wasn't allowed to have any of her friends or relatives here, this was to show that the previous royal family were no longer in power, and that had been completely defeated by the now ruling monarch. Sweetgem smiled to herself. They were not yet defeated. And they will never be defeated. For there was a secret that only three now living people knew and they would never tell a living soul as long as they lived.

"Are you well Princess?" her new husband asked.

"Quite well thank you," she smiled at him, her fake court smile, but no one would be able to tell the difference. A princess was highly trained in her duties and her education was far beyond any other. Queen Heldra always taught her daughters what she knew and more, she had set up a school for girls, though now that that man was ruling he had probably closed it and turned it into a new home for one of his fake lords.

"We will be leaving for our home soon." He said glancing at her apprehensively; he clearly wondered what she was thinking.

"I would love that." She lied, hoping she was convincing enough, something told her she wasn't. Frankly she couldn't care what his home was like, this had been her home and the village had been her home, and anywhere without her mother wasn't home. She felt tears come to her eyes at the thought of her mother and looked away from him.

A princess should not cry in public, she thought, she had never once seen her mother cry, even after father's death, never had the queen seemed upset or angry in front of her people. In front of them she had been strong and unconquerable; she had seemed the perfect queen.

"We will stay her tonight," the man she must call husband said, "and tomorrow travel onto our home."

"As you say, my lord," she said, her voice she was surprised to hear didn't shake. "I will look forward to the journey."

They were presented with gifts and as the time to retire to bed, Sweetgem found herself growing nervous. She knew what would happen; she would become a woman, a true married woman in a few short hours. So it confused her when her husband led her to her chambers the large crowd of well wishers following them, calling out, making jokes., he took her inside her room, and waited. What was this? Was he playing with her? She watched him with narrowed eyes, as he waited for the last of the well wishers to go on their way then turned to her.

"I shall bid you goodnight my lady." He said, was this what happened before a man bedded his wife, Sweetgem didn't think so, so why was he doing this? Did he enjoy tormenting her?

"Goodnight my lord." she said remaining upright; she knew it was custom for a wife to curtsy to her husband, but she would not do that, she would not be submissive to a man who would betray his own country.

He turned a left leaving her quite alone, what was he doing? Why was he doing it? What plans did he have? There must be something to this game he's playing. But she won't give in to him no matter what.

Her maids helped her to dress in her night shift, she could have done it herself, but apparently a lady should not do things for herself. And as she lay in bed, she began to count the people who the madman had killed that were precious to her.

One, her father. Two, her mother, three, her brother, four all her sisters, five, Bellrel's two children, six, Bellrel's husband, Seven, Alda's wife, eight, their son. Nine, many a lord who knew what was right and what was wrong. Ten, good men who had fought for survival and their freedom.

It was a growing list and would continue to grow, the longer the man reigned. But as her mother had said hope was always in the dark, light would always defeat the dark.

Stanza stood behind his lady's chair his arm still bound in the sling, it hurt, but at the moment he wasn't concentrating on that, that matter had been completely pushed out of his mind. This meeting was important and he had to keep his attention firmly fixed on it.

His lady sat in front of him in a gown of pale blue, her hands resting on her lap, fingers intertwined, her long red hair falling gracefully over one shoulder. She was so beautiful, he thought, she was like an angel.

"Strategy! What strategy? We have none." Called Lord Erewhish, he was a good man really but when it came to his temper, he just couldn't control it.

"We have won many battles! A few more and we shall have our country, we shall be free!" bellowed another adviser, Captain Mers, a tall man with a long nose he stood higher than the rest and always made an imposing figure. He was Lady's Merelda's sworn vassal and captain of her guard. Stanza like him, the man had courage, and he was clever, he would outwit a lesser man in a instant.

"Gentlemen." Lady Merelda said, her voice low, yet everyone stopped to listen, stanza listened intently he loved the sound of her voice. "Cease this arguing, we cannot hope to achieve our goals if we fight amongst ourselves." Everyone nodded, the Captain Mers, and Lord Erewhish glared at each other across the table. "After six years of fighting, I would have hoped that we would have got somewhere yes, but now the time is drawing nearer, the tyrant is busy with his business in Illirea, and we have defeated his army on more than one occasion. We will have our freedom, our independence."

"And who should rule us my lady? Who will take the role of our monarch? No doubt Lord Stanza will try to claim the throne as his own!" Erewhish said, he had lost his temper, a number of other men present nodded in agreement.

"And why would I do that?" Stanza said sharply, for what reason would he have to take the throne, by rights it should belong to Merelda as she started this rebellion, he thought. "Who do you think would be suitable my lord, you?"

"Yes I would make a good ruler!"

"Don't be silly, you can't even command a small number of troops!" Stanza responded, the new crown should go to Merelda, to his Merelda!

"How dare you!"

"Stop this at once!" Merelda had risen to her feet, "whoever will rule this country of ours, which shall be known as Surda, will be decided by the people, for those who rule are always subject to their people."

She swept from the ten then. And Stanza remained for long enough to exchange a glare with Erewhish, he knew that the lord did not mean what he said, that he had lost his temper, but at that moment he could not help but hate the lord.

"You are a selfish man who thinks nothing of himself!" Stanza said, he was beginning to loose his temper too. But who wouldn't when men tried to take what was no theirs. The throne of Surda would be Merelda's, and he would make sure of that. Not matter the cost, Merelda will become queen, she deserved it.

"Stanza you are a traitor I say!"

"I am not!"

"Do you deny that you wish to take the throne of our Surda?"

"Of course I deny it."

"You lie!"

"I do not! It is you who wants the throne for yourself. It rightfully belongs to….."

"I will bring you down Lord Stanza I swear it!"

He glared at the man for another minute before turning and leaving. He followed Lady Merelda out of tent, Captain Mers hot on his heels. They walked for several miles east to the edge of their camp and came to a stop behind Merelda who stood gazing out into the countryside, the heat of the south making them all feel drowsy. Sweat ran down Stanza's face, his arm ached. Mers was no better, he was from the cold north and was not used to the sweltering heat.

Mers looked at him and gestured with his chin for him to approach Merelda. He did so, slowly, wondering what he should say. There were moments when he didn't know what to say to her, times when she seemed so sad that he didn't think that there was any way of comforting her.

"Merelda," he spoke softly, coming to stand beside her. For a moment she did not answer, and then she said.

"Why did you argue with him?"

"Because he was trying make himself seem more important than he is!"

"Arguing will do us no good. If we crumble, then all is lost."

"I know." He said,

"Then please, try not to antagonise them."

"I was only trying…."

"I know. Stanza, I know. All I ask is that even when you are baited you do not rise to it."

"Yes, My Lady."

She smiled slightly and then turned her gaze to the sky. Her long hair rippling in the wind, the sun beat down on them, the sky the brightest blue.

"Who do you think should take the throne of Surda?" she asked not looking at him.

"Personally my Lady…" he paused; he would always support her, always. "I think it should be you."


	16. Chapter 16

16\. Journey of Three Souls

Kemba hurried downstairs, his mind racing with thoughts of his princess. She was so beautiful, he thought. Her long red hair stood out against her sun-browned skin like a beacon atop a sunlit hill and her big grey eyes, so like her mother's, seemed to radiate the love and compassion for the world which had set her family apart from so many others and made their reign a golden age. Even in her evident misery, her majesty was undeniably evident in the poise and grace with which she moved and spoke.

He smiled slightly, thinking of her rebellion against her circumstances. He was not surprised by it; indeed, he had expected her to be a great deal more outspoken in her hostility. It was only natural that she should blame him for her plight. It was, after all, partly his fault. Yet, although he would rather have faced a nidhwal in his bathwater again than admit it, he hoped one day, when time had healed the pain of her loss, she might grow to regard him as an ally, companion, perhaps even a lover.

He must show her that he was on her side, he thought. It was partly because of this that he had chosen not to lie with her tonight. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, if he was gentle, and honest with her, she might grow to love him.

Hastily he pushed these thoughts aside. He was a traitor, not a bard, to wander the land in a dream until a good story came to him. He must go to the king now, to settle his mind before he retired for the night. Tomorrow he would see the princess again and then he would have the rest of their married life to admire and come to know her.

The king sat, as usual, on his red and gold couch, reading a thick book, as Kemba was led into his apartments by a young guard. A bowl of grapes stood on a little mahogany table beside the chair. Galbatorix must be studying, or having supper in his chambers, realized Kemba, as he remembered the Bearers' custom of feeding their bodies and minds simultaneously. So, still thinking of his bride, he perched on his usual chair and waited.

As he watched the king reading, a loud snore echoed around the room. Kemba jumped, realizing for the first time that what he had taken to be a pair of curtains were really Shruikan's wings. The poor dragon must be terribly cramped, he realized, noting his size. How could he sleep in that position, his wings over his head and his legs folded under him, his tail wrapped around him like a wall?

For a moment, he considered waking him. Cramped muscles were very painful for those who woke up. How much worse it would be, for everyone, if the dragon became angry in his discomfort and breathed fire!

A moment later, he changed his mind. Shruikan had had a hard life and had suffered much worse than a cramp caused by sleeping on his legs. Besides, it was a we-known fact among King Galbatorix's followers that whoever awoke the king's dragon forfeited his own life.

It was not that he feared death at the hands of Shruikan particularly. It would be an honor to be engulfed by flames, or is his father had said, as it would speed his journey to become one with the sun, like his ancestors. But for now he must stay alive. King Galbatorix needed him and he wanted to see the princess again.

"Kemba?" The king's voice broke through his thoughts, like a battering ram smashing through the gates of some prodigious castle. Pushing aside his annoyance, he seated himself beside the king. "I am here, Your Grace," he murmured.

The king turned to him, setting the book down at last. "How fares married life for you?" he asked, producing a pack of cards. "Quite well," replied Kemba, carefully blocking his thoughts of Sweetgem from the king. "Thank you again for allowing me to marry her. She is the most beautiful girl in the land."

Galbatorix smirked. "Those are strong words, Kemba," he chuckled. "Perhaps I should tell Birgit she is no longer the apple of your eye." Kemba shrugged, relishing the king's good mood. "I'm a married man, Sire," he grinned. "You'll find the right woman someday, when you are older."

Galbatorix glared at him, but his expression was so comical that Kemba had to stop himself from laughing. "Young fellow," he reproved him playfully. "I am older than you by far! Do not patronize me or I shall have to ruminate upon a suitable punishment for you." "That sounds painful," remarked Kemba jokingly. "Do not exhaust your mind on my account, my Liege."

Galbatorix now led him towards the elegant table in the centre of the room. Kemba took his usual seat by the window, opposite his master as the cards were dealt. As they began playing, pausing every so often for a drink of wine, Kemba allowed himself to relax and enjoy the game. Tomorrow would bring its own worries. For now, though, he was a powerful lord, favored by the new king and married to the most beautiful, gentle, intelligent and spirited young girl in all Alagaesia. He was perfectly contented, or as content as any man could be on earth.

That night, as he slept in his chambers in Uru'Baen, Kemba dreamed of his new bride. They were sitting in his study, sharing in a bowl of chocolates as they conversed. She wore a long navy blue gown, a dainty gold necklace at her throat.

"I never thought I would grow to love a man who opposed my father," she was saying. "Yet you are different to the others; kinder, wiser and more intelligent by far. I like people who value kindness and wisdom as my family did." Kemba met her gaze, loving her solemn grey eyes and sweet, simple child's wisdom. "Those, as well as logic and courage, are the greatest gifts one person can give another," he said, remembering the words of his tutor, Jeod Leifsson. The princess smiled very prettily, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes as she murmured, "You forgot love, my lord husband."

The next morning dawned bright, yet cold, the sky pearly white, as if the weather were undecided whether to embrace the spring of a new year or allow the creatures of earth more time to recuperate from and rouse themselves from the dark season of the previous day. As Sweetgem gazed out of her bedchamber window, her heart sank. Today she would have to leave the palace in which she had once lived with her mother and father, to be transferred to the home of the man the law considered to be her husband. Tonight she would discover whatever scheme he had been devising on the evening of their wedding. Today her rebellion began, for her parents, brothers, sisters and all she had loved. The usurper Galbatorix could not subdue her or her people so easily.

"Thank you," she said as politely as she could as a maid helped her to dress. The maid smiled. "I'll miss you, my Lady," she murmured, avoiding her eyes. "I will miss you too, Ella," replied Sweetgem, recognizing the young brown-haired girl as one of her best childhood friends. "Perhaps, if your workload permits, we may see each other again." "I dearly hope so, Gem," smiled Ella. "You are a better person, princess or not, in my eyes and the people think so too. Don't forget that, no matter what your enemies say or do." Sweetgem smiled despite herself. "Thank you, Ella," she murmured, allowing herself to be led down the marble staircase to the great hall for breakfast.

Kemba looked up from pouring himself a glass of wine. Seeing his bride coming towards him, he smiled and rose respectfully to his feet. "Good morning, My Lady," he beamed. "Are you well?" "Well enough, thank you, my lord," she replied, sending chills down his spine.

Later, after a quick breakfast of bread and fruit, they were led outside to the courtyard, where a carriage was waiting for them. The footman, a squat little man with black hair, nodded cordially to them as they entered the carriage. "Congratulations on your marriage, my lord and lady," he murmured as Sweetgem climbed into the carriage before he could help her in. "Thank you," replied Kemba and Sweetgem politely.

As the carriage juddered into motion, the horses snorting their displeasure at being rudely awoken and forced into action so early in the morning, no one spoke. In the distance, a black shape swooped from the sky, then took off again, looking larger than it had before, but neither Kemba nor his wife noticed this, each being too absorbed in his or her own thoughts. Even the shouts of the driver urging the horses forward went unnoticed as they sped away from Uru'Baen. This journey marked the beginning of many things, they were sure, but also the end of their beginnings.

Shruikan soared triumphantly towards the mountain cave where his small, gentle two-legs round-ears companion was hidden. As he flew, he hummed with pleasure, imagining the expression on Brom's face when he saw what Shruikan had brought for him. He did love seeing the small two-legs happy!

As the mountains drew nearer, he thought over the last few days and the progress he had made in training Brom in the ways of Riders. He had tried to go slowly at first, not wanting to overwhelm or frighten him by being too forward, but the boy had seemed eager to learn. Even better, aside from being very intelligent, he was also a very sensitive and perceptive youngling and Shruikan found himself sharing the innermost secrets of his heart and mind with him.

As they had shared a meal of roast lamb, they had begun conversing about their families. Shruikan had been shocked to learn that Brom's parents had died in the last battle against the false gold-horned leader. Sympathy penetrated his newfound joy. His new Rider was an orphan, a bereaved hatchling searching for a sanctuary in an uncertain world, just like him.

Brom, however did not seem saddened by his parents' death. "I miss them," he had admitted quietly. "But I know they're watching over me with Angvard and his angels. Anyway, it's not like I'll never see them again." Shruikan was awed by the tiny hatchling's wisdom. Until now, he had not believed in any gods and had thought those who did were stupid for thinking they could solve their problems by murmuring them to invisible beings which did not seem to care for them. Yet the faith of this tiny human that his family were safe under the protection of the one called Angvard made him wonder.

"Have you ever seen Angvard?" he asked curiously. "No," replied Brom, sucking a bit of meat juice from his finger. "Then can you be sure he exists?" queried Shruikan. "Because I feel him watching over me and guiding me," replied Brom simply. "But you can't see him," Shruikan pointed out. "So how can you know he's guiding and protecting you?" "My parents said he guides those who do as he says to good things and just when they were killed, we found each other," answered Brom cheerfully. "My Ma said he would gather the fallen Riders and their dragons together and reunite them when they stand before him at the end of time."

Shruikan had lain awake for a long time, thinking about this. Brom had seemed convinced of Angvard's existence and goodness and he seemed quite an honest, yet sensible child. He had always thought gods could not exist, being a dragon, the most powerful creature in Alagaesia. Yet the thought of one day being reunited with his beloved Yaela filled him with hope and he couldn't bear to lose that hope.

He had told Brom many stories about Yaela, unburdening his heart as he recounted the happy days of his early life. Brom had been enthralled by his stories, particularly one of his earliest memories, when Yaela, pitying him for being too young to fly, had taken him with her as she had ridden with Oromis on the back of his golden dragon Glaedr. "I wish I could fly," he had murmured. You will someday, thought Shruikan, his heart seeming to dance with joyful excitement as he thought of his plan.

Shruikan shook himself. Now was not the time to lose himself in memories of the past, however pleasant they might be. Now was the time to feed Brom and enjoy his company while bringing him one step closer to becoming a Rider.

Brom was sitting outside the cave when Shruikan landed, his eyes closed, his face pale and thoughtful. He must be meditating, realized the dragon with a surge of admiration for the child. Stretching out his mind, he noticed the boy's barriers were not up.

"Greetings, Brom," he hummed. "How are you faring?" "Rather well," replied Brom dreamily. "I was just meditating and I found a bunch of ants having a battle with a big scary enemy." Shruikan laughed, the sound rumbling like thunder in his throat. "They will triumph in the end," he told him, setting down his catch and beginning to prepare it for cooking.

Later, as they ate, Shruikan told Brom about what had happened in Illirea, now called Uru'Baen that day. Upon hearing about Heldra's death, he looked sad, then brightened at the mention of Sweetgem. "She's a strong woman, cousin Sweetgem," he grinned, taking another bite of meat. "Nothing, not even the false and evil king, will bring her down."

The sky was dark when at last the carriage reached Kemba's ancestral home. It was a large castle, surrounded by thick woods. A river flowed through the moonlit grounds, the sound of its rushing waters seeming incredibly loud in the darkness, after the comparative silence of the journey. Beside her, Sweetgem heard Kemba sigh as they disembarked and began walking towards the castle side by side. Was he glad to be home, she wondered, or did he regret leaving Uru'Baen? Was he glad to be married or was he disappointed at how little she had spoken to him?

They had been driving for some time, she gazing at the countryside rushing past her window, when he had finally asked, "What is your name, Princess?" "Sweetgem," she had replied, glad her voice betrayed none of her feelings. She had been rather unsure of how to take his manner of addressing her. Was he mocking her, she wondered. His manner was perfectly respectful, considering his allegiance to that man who had killed her father in his quest to steal the throne. Yet, she reminded herself, she must keep her guard up at all times. There was no knowing what might become of her, or her surviving siblings, now.

Kemba tried to remain calm as he led his new bride over the threshold of the castle in which he had been born and raised. According to ancient Alagaesian traditions, it was customary for a bridegroom to carry his new wife home, but somehow he doubted Sweetgem would appreciate that. In fact, judging by her expression, it would be best not to even take her hand, as much as he wanted to.

For a moment, he wondered if he had done the right thing in marrying her. From what he had heard, her parents had been loving and supportive of their children. To think she had come from that to his own kin, who spent more time attacking each other, physically and emotionally, made his stomach clench.

An arrow shot past his ear, embedding itself in the wall and breaking his train of thought. As a second shaft came flying towards Sweetgem, he forgot himself for a moment and pulled her aside. She stared at him, her eyes wide with bewilderment.

"What...?" she started to say, then stopped as Kemba caught a third dart and inspected it. "Brutus," he muttered grimly. Then, seeing her mystified expression, he realized he would have to explain. "Brutus is practicing with his bow again," he told her in a low voice. He glared up the marble staircase as a small group of figures hastily retreated from sight.

"Does he often shoot at those entering the castle?" Sweetgem asked apprehensively. "No," replied Kemba, glaring after them. "Rest assured, I will deal with him later and he will not do it again." There was an ominous, rather menacing note to his voice and Sweetgem decided not to say anything. She shuddered to think what would happen when her new husband was angry.


	17. Chapter 17

17, Question of right and wrong.

Her handmaid helped with the ties of her gown, even out in the wilderness, she always tried to dress and act like a noblewoman, that she had been born to be, and since her husband's death. She had always believed that it was the fault of the man who now sat upon the throne in Illirea. And she was determined to break free, have a new country for the people.

So when her husband had died, she had set out, to raise an army, to try and bring that man down, to put the right people on the throne. It hadn't ended that way, fate clearly had other intentions for them. She knew that there had always been a chance that things might not go their way.

To her surprise she had gained a lot of support, a widow who had just lost her husband, had been joined by a great many men, all of them who had something against that man!

And then she had met Lord Stanza, a man of tall stature, of great importance, and she had fallen for him, she knew it was wrong, falling in love with another man so soon after her own husband had died, but she couldn't help it. Sometimes the guilt was too much for her that she could not eat, and she could not sleep.

She often wondered whether she was doing the right thing, was starting the war the right thing to do? Her dreams were always plagued with evil thoughts, telling her that she had murdered a great many people by setting forth on this venture. A dark figure whispered words of hate into her ear, and called her all sorts of names. Sometimes the figure would turn into her late husband and he curse her. But then Lord Stanza would enter her dreams and defend her.

Lord Stanza, the very thought of him send a shiver down her spine, his very name made her legs go weak and her heart to speed up. When near him she found her mind went blank and all she would be able to think about was him and not the upcoming battles that they would have to fight in for their freedom and their lives. But she felt safe with him, she felt as if she could do anything if only she could spend another moment in his company.

"are you well my Lady?" her handmaid, Irri asked, watching her with concern as she tied the final knots of her gown.

"yes," she responded, her thoughts still on Stanza, the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way their eyes met. He was a loyal vassal she was sure, but she couldn't help loving him, she had to know whether he loved her, because she was sure that she loved him. "do you know where Lord Stanza is?"

"I am sorry my lady but I don't, but I can find out for you."

"Could you?" she smiled at the younger woman,, Irri wasn't that much younger than she was, she had been with Merelda throughout it all, her marriage to her late husband, through their flight south and Merelda hoped that she would be there for her for a long time to come, she did not know what she would do without Irri, they had been friends since they were children.

Irri curtsied and left, Merelda stared into the mirror wondering. Should she just ask him how he felt and confess her love for him? or should she just ignore this feeling and carry on as if nothing had changed?

She took a seat in the chair beside and cot and picked up a book, she read as she waited hoping that Irri would find Stanza, her dilemma about whether or not to tell how feelings raged on in her mind.

Half an hour past, and still there was no sign of Stanza or Irri, Merelda was about to give up and order her dinner when the tent flap opened in came Irri followed closely by the Lord Stanza, her Stanza.

"Thank you Irri," Merelda said, smiling at her friend. "would you please bring us some food."

"Of course my lady." Irri curtsied to her then to Lord Stanza and headed out of the tent leaving them alone.

"You wished to see me My Lady," he bowed and knelt in front of her.

"Yes, I did,. You may rise my lord." she said, he stood and watched her, his bandaged hand held against his chest. How she wished she could help with his pain. "please sit, I wanted to talk to you."

He sat opposite her, arranging his cloak so it would not crease, watching her closely. He a tunic of royal blue with gold stitching.

"What is it My Lady?"

Should she say it, should she tell him, she opened her mouth to speak. But nothing came out. If she told him she might divert them from their goal. Would it be wrong to tell him? Should she tell him?

"I wanted to talk to you about….. About….. The next battle."

His surprise was evident, he had clearly been expecting something else, but at the last minute her determination, her desire to tell him had gone. Oh well, she thought, there is always next time.

It had been a confusion of emotions for Sweetgem, she was confused, as to why the children would try to kill her with an arrow, mingle that with her grief and her hatred of the family that she must now be apart of. She hated ut with all her heart. On the plus side she was allowed to employ her own attendants, theis gave her some comfort and as soon as she was allowed to retire to her own room she wrote a letter, requesting that Ella joined her. She also wrote that she would understand if Ella preferred to stay with her family, or what remained of it. but she asked her long tiem friend to give it some consideration.

Her new husband did however say that he would give her a maid as a gift, who in their right mind would give a maid as a gift, she would not ask however, she would just accept, but she had a feeling that this maid he would put in her service was only being put there so she could spy on Sweetgem and report back her new husband all that she did, well she wasn't going to fall for it.

The maid arrived and Sweetgem studied her for a moment, she stood tall, and gazed at her steadily.

"My Lady," the maid said curtsying, "I am pleased and honoured to serve you." Her voice was pleasant and polite.

Sweetgem had to remember what her lady mother had taught her, always be polite and courteous, never show any sign of weakness. She smiled.

"It is a pleasure to have you in my service." Ah, she was certainly getting the hang of this. She thought that after spending seven years in a small village in the north, that she would have forgotten, but no, this pleased her. She was doing what her Lady mother, the Queen wanted. She was going to make her mother proud. "What is your name?" she asked, all the royals knew their servants and they knew them by name, it was important to gain friends and make allies. Her father always used to say,

"Know those you serve you and they will serve you willingly and loyally. If you don't, they could turn on you in an instant."

But that wasn't entirely true, servants, those of lower rank would follow you if you treated them right. But those of higher rank would betray you in an instant. Why? Why would they do that? Why would they betray someone and hurt a great many people? They would be responsible for so many deaths.

"Lucrezia." She said, "my name is Lucrezia."

"I greet you well Lucrezia," Sweetgem said, extending her hand for Lucrezia to shake, they did, and Sweetgem thought she saw a glimmer of hope and devotion in the older woman's eyes. "you are to be my handmaid?" she asked, Lucrezia nodded.

"I hope we will become friends." Sweetgem said.

"As do I My Lady."

"Please call me Sweetgem." Lucrezia smiled, as did Sweetgem, she wondered what would happen next, and she longed to be away from here, away from this family who had betrayed her family and were the reason that they were all dead. She longed to be free.

"Please could you fetch me a quill, some ink and some paper I wish to draw in the gardens, if I may be permitted."

"Of course my lady… I mean Sweetgem." Lucrezia hurried away leaving Sweetgem alone. Was it right to feel this way about her new family, or was it wrong? Was it right to feel this hatred towards them? Was it wrong of her to want her freedom and be away from them all? And was it right or wrong to want to rebel?


	18. Chapter 18

18\. Crows, Candles and Clubs

Lucrezia allowed herself a small smile as she followed her new mistress downstairs and into the gardens. The new lady of the house was so polite and well-spoken, unlike some of the ladies she had to serve in this family. Her royal parentage was evident from the way she spoke and behaved.

Then her heart sank as she remembered the brutal way in which the royal family had been murdered. A lump of sympathy for Princess Sweetgem burned in her throat. She longed to put her arms around her, as her mother might have done, hold her close and shield her from all the dangers of the world.

She was glad she had been chosen to be the next Lucrezia, even if she did feel a bit sorry for her older sister whose bad temper had made her unfit for the position. It was a very important position in the household, which gave her authority over the other servants, even the steward, and best of all, placed her in an ideal position to spend time with Sweetgem, as she was not obliged to do the menial chores of an ordinary maid, such as cleaning, fetching and carrying. With a contented sigh, she sat down and watched as Sweetgem wrote feverishly, imagining life as her handmaid and friend, she hoped.

After a while, they began to talk. Sweetgem seemed as interested in Lucrezia's family as Lucrezia was to hear about hers. When Sweetgem told her about all the long conversations, sparring matches and chess games she had enjoyed with her brother, Lucrezia smiled. "Prince Alda sounds a good man," she murmured, thinking of her own brothers and how jealous they were of her, her older sister and each other for the privileges they believed they had.

Upon hearing about her siblings and long-suffering parents, Sweetgem smiled in a sad sort of way. "I should like to meet them someday," she said quietly, watching a robin foraging in the grass for food. "Tell me more." So Lucrezia did, relishing her words as well as her polished Illirean accent, while sating her curiosity about the royal family.

Kemba stole another glance through the window of his study, then hastily returned to his accounts. Beautiful as Sweetgem was, he knew she would not appreciate his watching her. Besides, he did not believe for an instant that she was drawing in the garden, as Zoe had told him. It seemed to him far more likely that she was writing to one of the groups rebelling against the king. Why Zoe had felt the need to report her actions to him, he did not know. It was none of his business, really.

And yet... He glanced through the window again, unable to take his eyes from her small elegant form as she sat under a large oak tree. The only movement she made, aside from the tiny motions of her hand as she wrote, was to glance up, her eyes veiled in shadow. Beside her, he saw a scrap of paper on which was sketched a rough drawing of an elm tree growing nearby and a bird sitting in its branches. It was a masterful piece of artwork and reminded him of his childhood days sitting in that elm tree when he had no lessons while his father rushed around, attending to his lordly duties.

He smiled, remembering the many hours he had spent in its strong branches, reading the journals of his ancestors, planning epic battles between his army of wooden soldiers and the carnivorous insects, watching the affairs of the creatures around him and caring for them, just as his father had cared for his subjects. That tree had been his world, Lord Shu'al's and Lady Khatula's, their magic kingdom, where all their dreams flourished. They had even given it a name: Dragon Star Island.

Kemba leaned back against the mighty trunk of his tree, watching as the sky grew lighter. As the first white light of the sun began to spread over the earth, breaking the darkness of night like a mighty hand tearing back a curtain, he bowed and waited. Before long, he felt the hands of his ancestors upon him, warming him, and he rose, smiling at them, lowering his gaze respectfully. "Good morning," he murmured and felt their approving response.

Then he began to climb. Around him, birds were awakening and beginning to chatter to each other, like servants gossiping or peasants conversing excitedly. Kemba's smile broadened. The king of Dragon Star Island had returned.

Just as he settled down on his throne, a wide part in the tree where two of the branches grew vertically, very close together, a soft crack made him jump slightly. Turning his head, he noticed a robin's nest in which six eggs had once rested. One of them was cracked and a small brown beak was just visible through the shell.

His eyes drifted to the adult robins, two especially devoted subjects of his, Roran the builder and Ruth the seamstress. Their eyes shone with excitement and the anxious anticipation which comes of waiting for something important. Other birds twittered and flapped around them, but they remained silent, too awed to speak.

Before long, the egg hatched and the tiny baby bird sat, cheeping confusedly and staring around. Kemba watched it happily, then raised his hands to bless the newest member of his kingdom, as he had seen King Anguenost do so many times. "Welcome to the world, child," he murmured. He turned to Ruth, who stood protectively over her newborn chick. "What's the youngling's name?" he asked. Ruth opened her beak and twittered, seeming to reply. To Kemba, it sounded like "Charlie."

"I bless you, Charlie Roransson, in the name of Angvard, Gokukara and the Orum," he announced. "May the sun forever warm your feathers, guide you in times of trouble and protect you from all evil. May you grow to be a credit to your family and this kingdom, following the lead of your parents and the teachings of the earth." The baby bird cheeped quietly, seeming pleased with its name and the blessing it had just received. Ruth and Roran watched, their brown eyes shining with proud pleasure.

This ceremony was repeated five more times. As Kemba went on to welcome Rhi, Nat, Tip, Pirri and Mimi to Dragon Star Island, the sun rose higher in the cloudy sky, making the dew on the grass shine like coins thrown on the ground during a king's coronation. Kemba stared at it and his newest subjects, wishing he had some oil to anoint them with, as the king did when his subjects brought their new babies to him.

As if in answer to his thoughts, several drops of rain fell onto the baby birds' heads. "Welcome to Dragon Star Island, children," he beamed. The birds twittered happily, their uncertain young voices becoming almost indistinguishable from the chorus of joyful birdsong in surrounding nests and trees. It seemed to the young boy as though the whole world was celebrating the birth of these five creatures.

Kemba blinked and tried again to focus on his accounts. It was rude, not to mention pointless, to sit watching his unwilling wife through the window like a common lord surveying unsuspecting peasant girls from above. He ought to know better, he chided himself silently. He was married now and must respect his wife in every way.

She had stopped writing now and was folding her letter and stowing it in the little leather pouch at her waist. For an instant, she glanced up, her eyes bright with defiance and pent-up emotion, but she did not look at him. Kemba watched, unable to resist, as she pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards her, dipped her quill in her ink bottle and began drawing again.

He saw his tree taking form on the parchment, but now the scene was different. The sky above it was dark, a faint chink of light showing that dawn had come, or that dusk was nearing its triumph over the earth. Black shapes seemed to be flying around the tree and resting in its branches. Crows, realized Kemba, with a feeling of numb horror, the symbol of impending death.

The sun had not yet risen, but Kemba could not sleep. The early morning air was cold as he made his way outside. It had been foolish of him not to put on a cloak over his nightshirt, but now he hardly noticed the chill. His stomach churned with foreboding, as if something terrible were about to happen.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was running towards Dragon Star Island. He had to get there soon, before the enemy did. Already he could see their small dark silhouettes against the moonlit sky, their malicious little faces set for his kingdom.

Without waiting for his ancestors, he shunned up the mighty tree, pausing only to grab as many sticks and stones as he could carry. His people were in danger, he thought. He must save them.

The enemy were closer now, several of their foul forces making for Ruth and Roran's nest. The two adult robins sat side by side, huddled protectively over their young, who slept peacefully in the warmth of their parents' wings. Kemba smiled, thinking of his father and the stories he had told him of their ancestors as they had been in their homeland, united against all adversities, guided by the sun and the Orum. How nice it must be, he thought, to have a close family protecting and being protected by each other!

A lump rose in his throat as he wished his family could have lived in the desert with their contented, loving forebears. If they had, he thought, perhaps his parents would smile more often. Perhaps, if her blood were not chilled by the cold Alagaesian air, his mother might regain the heat that was naturally present in women and she might love him more.

A raucous war cry, followed by the scufflings and screeches of battle, jolted him out of his thoughts. The enemy had surrounded the nest and were driving the defenseless parents from their home. Their children were now exposed, within easy reach of their foes.

With a wordless cry of rage, Kemba darted forward, almost falling out of the tree, and hurled a handful of stones in the crows' direction. The missiles caught some in just the right place, knocking them down, never to rise again. Others simply turned and cawed derisively, advancing on the defenseless robin children.

Kemba flung more stones at them, the motion causing him to overbalance. With an involuntary cry of surprise, he felt himself falling. Seeing the ground coming swiftly towards him, he shut his eyes, not wanting to see the hard grey-brown ground as it rushed towards him.

A sharp pain zinged through his left wrist as he collided with the ground. Opening his eyes, he looked down at his hand, which was now hanging at a very odd angle. His wrist was swollen and painful.

Clenching his teeth, he tried desperately to climb back up the tree, but his left hand would not obey him. Above him, he heard the dying screeches of the five young robins, his robins, and the callous cackling of his foes as they sped skywards. "I will have revenge!" he growled at them as they retreated. "The Orum will punish you, a life for a life!" Then he knew no more.

Kemba wrenched himself back into the present. Now was not the time for sentimental journeys down memory lane, even if it was satisfying to remember how he had avenged his young subjects, shooting them down with arrows, then leaving their bodies in an ants' nest, far away from the tiny graves of the dead robins. Now was the time to focus in the present, his people and how to protect and earn the trust of Sweetgem, his bride, his princess, his bold and fearless champion...

She had gone inside now, her drawings lying on the ground beside the stool on which she had sat. A knot of worry tightened in his gut as he remembered that she had not yet met his family and did not know how dangerous they could be when angered. He must find and defend her from them, he thought. Though she might not appreciate it, it was his duty, as a loving husband, a follower of the Orum and a descendant of the sun, to defend her.

As he made his way silently through the house, pausing only to grab her drawings, he reflected on the previous night's events. After giving her a tour of the house and grounds, he had supped with her, noticing with concern how little she ate, then made his way upstairs to deal with Brutus. She had decided to retire and been promptly guided upstairs by Birgit, a spirited young maid, much like the princess herself. For a few moments, he had watched her as she vanished up the marble staircase, pitying, loving and longing for her.

Upon finding Brutus on his way to his rooms, he had been pleased to find they were alone in the corridor. "I believe this is yours," he had stated, holding up the arrow which had almost hit Sweetgem. Brutus had nodded, his dark blue eyes surveying him suspiciously.

"Rather clumsy, was it not, shooting the lady of the house?" Kemba had drawled, watching the boy as he crushed the arrow to splinters in his hand. Brutus had stared at him blankly. "What do you mean?" he had demanded, his voice laden with the disdain he held for everyone except the Orum and the sun.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Kemba had replied coldly. "In attempting to shoot a princess of this realm, you have proven yourself to be just as your father says you are; a coward!" Then, before Brutus could react, he had thrust him onto the hard ground and rammed the splintered dart into his bare right foot, watching with grim satisfaction as for a moment his eyes glimmered with bright tears of agony. Then he plunged the steel head of the arrow into his ankle, blood oozing from the wound as he drove it further in. "Remember this," he had hissed as he had walked away. "If you ever think to attack my wife again."

Now, as he listened to the sounds of his family and the household going about their business, he wondered if he had not been too harsh in dealing with his cousin. It was not that he cared particularly for the boy, but he was certain Princess Sweetgem would not approve and did not like to think what she would do if angered. Besides, he was a member of the Ricardo family, arrogant and unsophisticated as he was and it was necessary to protect family members. Besides, attacking others, even with just cause, was not the way to become one with the sun. He must work harder at controlling his temper in future.

"What would you have done, Father?" he asked in the silence of his mind. There was no answer. There was none to give. He did not deserve one. Anyway, his father could give none. He was gone forever.

On the way to her rooms, he paused, seeing a large bronze statue of a snake, its head reared, as if it were about to strike. Its small eyes, set with red jewels, were narrowed as though in anger. Its mouth was open, frozen, it seemed, in one word. "Fool!"

Through one of the windows, he glimpsed a messenger on a white charger riding through the thick undergrowth which surrounded the castle grounds, like a great green army besieging the castle, cutting them off from the main road. Once he got through that, the messenger would be at the mercy of the Empire and the unforgiving elements. What was he thinking, he thought incredulously. He must stop him and redirect him or he would surely die.

Slipping the pictures into his pocket, he hurried downstairs and out to where the messenger was, running to catch up with the horse. Upon reaching the man, he noticed he was not wearing the sign of the Empire on his uniform. Could he be a rebel, he wondered with a thrill of excitement.

"Good evening," he greeted him, glad he did not sound breathless. The man looked down at him, a flicker of fear in his eyes as he realized who was speaking to him. "Lord Kemba, sir," he murmured. "I was just, er, going to visit my niece. She lives in Carvahall, you know."

Kemba allowed himself a small smile. He did enjoy hearing people trying to invent lies on the spur of the moment. The clumsiness of their harebrained utterances was often rather amusing. This was one of the reasons he loved being a lord.

"Naturally," he replied, catching sight of the dark blue ribbon with which the scroll was sealed. He remembered seeing it in Sweetgem's hair when she had been outside. She must have written the letter, he realized. She must be contacting her rebel friends. Well, if she was going to do that, it was only right that he should help her, as her husband and a descendant of the Orum.

"You know, you'd reach your destination a lot more quickly if you travelled through the Spine," he told him, after making sure no one was around to overhear. "You wouldn't have to worry about the empire's men searching you or asking awkward questions." He winked at the man before adding, "Besides, the desert country is not the only place Angrenost's supporters are based." The man blinked at him, raising a gloved hand to brush his long light brown hair out of his eyes. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" he asked doubtfully. "For all I know, you could be leading me into a trap engineered by the king." "An excellent point," Kemba commended him. "This letter is from Princess Sweetgem, the daughter of Angrenost. I am not only the king's servant, as you know me, but as of a week ago, I am the princess' husband. As his servant, I can tell you he fears the Spine, even more now that it has become a hideout for rebels. As her husband, I owe it to her to ensure this letter reaches her friends."

The messenger smiled. "As you wish, My Lord," he responded before disappearing on the road towards the Spine. Kemba watched him until he was out of sight, then made his way back to the castle and Sweetgem. He hoped his plan would work, if only to bring her hope. She needed that. They both did.

Pip watched as the white stallion drew nearer to where he and the other supporters of Lord Stanza were encamped in the Spine. A chill of excitement shot through him. He loved horses. They were such noble creatures, their long proud faces full of loyalty and courage, their coarse hair soft and warm. With one snort or whinny, they could warn a man of danger, reprimand him for some foolishness he had committed, share news, express the love in their souls, voice their disgust at some injustice or simply allow the humble furless creatures who rode them share in their merriment.

He sighed. How he longed for a horse of his own! The Empire had them, thousands of them, scarred, terrified shadows of their race, robbed of their natural dignity, yet powerless to fight for it. His friends in the rebel forces had them and took good care of them, mostly. It was so unfair, he often thought, that he was destined by his birth and position never to have one.

As the man dismounted from his steed, Pip hastily returned his attention to him. He held a scroll in his hand, tied with a dark blue ribbon. "From Princess Sweetgem," he heard the man say. "Please deliver it to your leader forthwith." "Yes sir," replied Pip, making his way disappointedly towards the tent of Lord Liel to deliver the letter. "I'd like to see Lord Liel, please," he told the guards. "I've an important message for him from Princess Sweetgem."

Sweetgem sighed and gave Lucrezia a grateful look as she watched the messenger ride away with her letter. There was no knowing how long she would have to wait for a response, or if she would get one at all, but it made her feel a little better to know she had done something, however small, towards the rebellion against that usurper Galbatorix. With this thought, she smiled sadly as she drew the long white curtains over the large arched windows and stared around her new bedchamber.

It was a large room, decorated in pretty shades of blue and green. Beside the four-poster bed was a large cabinet made of varnished ebony. The left wall was occupied by a large bookshelf, filled with old books on various subjects. The right wall was decorated by a single portrait of a young woman with long fair hair and light blue, almost grey, eyes. She wore a long red dress, her shoulders wrapped in a golden shawl. In one hand, she held a candle, the other held a club.

A small gasp of surprise, quiet as the cheeping of a baby bird, made Sweetgem jump slightly and turn around. The bedroom door was open. Taking a deep steadying breath, she stared around, preparing to face whoever had come to her so unexpectedly, just as her mother had so calmly faced her accuser and executioner such a short time before.

A small, thin girl, who could not have been older than nine, stood in the doorway. Her brown hair was long and lank. Her brown eyes were large and fearful, like a rabbit's. She wore a faded pink dress, her spindly legs encased in grey stockings and battered brown boots. Bruises and cuts covered her small form where her flesh showed, except on her face. To look at her filled Sweetgem with horror and renewed hatred for the family she had been forced to become part of.

"Who might you be, child?" she asked gently. "Hannah, Madam," replied the girl, her voice husky, keeping her gaze downcast. Sweetgem was disconcerted by this, but chose not to comment. This girl had clearly suffered a great deal and was obviously very frightened. It would be wrong to exacerbate her anxiety with an ill-chosen comment.

"Come in," she said gently. "And please call me Sweetgem." The girl obeyed silently, glancing anxiously behind her and Sweetgem saw two boys with short blonde hair and large blue eyes slip hastily into the shadows. One was dressed in black pants and a blue shirt, the other wore a red shirt and brown pants, but otherwise they were identical.

"Who are those boys, Hannah?" she asked. "George and Neville, Madam - I mean Sweetgem," replied the girl, biting her lip as her hand strayed to a nasty-looking gash on her forehead. Sweetgem hastily closed her bedroom door. "What brings you here?" she asked, hastily changing the subject.

Before Hannah could answer, the girls heard a voice in the corridor yell "I know what you're like! Now what have you done to her this time?" The sheepish murmurs of two young boys followed this, then the voice spoke again. "Clear off, you two or I'll tell Uncle Kimber!" it threatened and Sweetgem was startled to hear it was a girl speaking. Did everyone in this household threaten and attack each other, she wondered apprehensively.

Hearing a knock at the door, she hastily put these thoughts from her mind. A princess must be courteous and fair at all times, her mother had taught her. She must not be seen to judge this family without cause. "Come in," she called, keeping her voice even and controlled.

The door opened again and in walked a tall, slender and very pretty girl who looked no older than thirteen. Her long blonde hair was tied back under a green headscarf which complimented her shimmering green dress. On her wrist was a green bracelet which looked like a miniature snake. Seeing Sweetgem, she smiled in a friendly sort of way, her eyes full of warmth, energy and understanding.

"Hello," she greeted her politely. "You must be Princess Sweetgem." "Yes," replied Sweetgem in surprise. "How did you know?" "I heard some servants say you'd be arriving soon," replied the girl excitedly. "I'm Rahab, daughter of Lord Casca and Lady Trudy by the way."

At that moment, she caught sight of Hannah, who was standing nervously beside Sweetgem. Her smile broadened, then faded as she noticed the girl's injuries. "Thank you for protecting Hannah, Your Highness," she said, taking the younger girl's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "My pleasure," replied Sweetgem, smiling genuinely for the first time since her arrival at this castle. "Is she your sister?"

"No," replied Rahab. Then, seeing Hannah's expression, she added, "Not by birth, but she's as good as. My uncle Ricardo took her in after she lost her parents to scarlet fever." As she mentioned Ricardo, she paused and swallowed hard. Sweetgem felt a rush of sympathy towards this girl as she realized Lord Ricardo must have meant a lot to her.

"He sounds a very kind man," she heard herself say and Rahab nodded. "He was," she murmured. "He was a lot like the king, even if they did have their disagreements." A lump burned in Sweetgem's throat as she thought of her father, his grey eyes shining with the kindly wisdom and love which had made him such a good king, his lips moving to form some word of praise, comfort or counsel to whoever needed it.

At that moment, Lucrezia, who had slipped from the room while the girls had been talking, returned with a bowl of water, a wineskin and a stack of bandages. Seeing Sweetgem's expression, she set down her load beside Rahab and put her arms around the younger woman, enfolding her in a comforting embrace. Sweetgem savored the contact, blinking back her tears as Rahab and Hannah tactfully left the room. This woman was not her mother, but she had been kind to her thus far and for that Sweetgem was very thankful.

Just as she recovered, there came a knock at the bedroom door. "I thought you might appreciate a cup of tea," came Rahab's voice from outside the room. "Thank you," replied Sweetgem huskily. Then the door opened and Rahab reentered the room, carrying a silver tea tray bearing four teacups, an elegant teapot and a plate of honey cakes.

For several happy moments, Sweetgem, Rahab and Lucrezia conversed, Lucrezia pouring out the tea as for the other two women. For a moment, it struck Sweetgem as strange that her first friends in this castle were an old woman and a girl only a year older than herself, but she soon forgot that as she found herself unburdening her heart to these two kind women, two friends in this dismal place.

Another knock at the door brought an abrupt end to their discussion. "Come in," said Sweetgem, her stomach clenching with nerves. As the door opened, she saw Kemba standing on the threshold, holding two drawings she recognized as her own.

"I must admire your courage," he murmured once the niceties had been exchanged with all due decorum. "Very few ladies I've met would have dared to send messages to the king's enemies." Sweetgem said nothing, watching his expression for any sign that might tell her of his true motives. If he had read her letter to Lord Stanza, he might tell his master, which would lead to the deaths of many good people. She repressed a shiver, waiting for the awful silence to be broken.

Apparently something of her thoughts showed in her expression, for his expression grew suddenly serious and he murmured, "I did not read your letter and wouldn't repeat the contents if I had. Here and now, I swear to you, in the name of Nancy, whose portrait hangs here, that I will protect you from your foes, whatever the cost." "Yet you betrayed my family!" Sweetgem could not help retorting. "How do I know this promise will be kept?"

Kemba sighed ruefully, but it was Rahab who spoke next. "She's right, Uncle," she said quietly. "What you did, siding with Galbatorix was wrong, especially since Nancy sacrificed the love of her life, her home, her position and her life to save King Angrenost when he was a prince. You'd better not go breaking the promise or she'll be down on you like a ton of bricks and serve you right!" Sweetgem was taken aback by her boldness in speaking to a grown man so boldly, especially considering his power as the king's favorite lord, not to mention the regret in Kemba's eyes, but Rahab's claim that someone this family admired had saved her father in his youth astounded her even more. She had no reason to think Rahab had lied about it, but it was still hard to believe, after all she had seen and been through, that anything truly good could come from this family.

Such thoughts as these continued to fill her mind as Rahab and the man she must now call her husband bade her goodnight and she was helped to prepare for sleep by Lucrezia. She could see her drawings, which he had given back to her, on the little table in the antechamber. Why had he done that? What did he want from her? Or was he genuinely trying to be kind? She glanced up at the portrait of Nancy, wondering about her, Kemba, his family and her future.


	19. Chapter 19

19\. Hopes and Dreams

Lord Stanza knelt before his lady, before the Lady Merelda, his gaze firmly fixed on her. She sat in the chair in front of them all, looking regal and dignified, but Stanza could sense her sadness. Today they had decided who was to be the ruling monarch of their country. That was when they finally finished fighting with that mad mans forces. They had won a great many victories, and they had lost a large number of men, but they were closer to freedom.

She stood her gown of purple and gold rippling in the slight breeze, her red hair flowing down her back freely. A tent was no place for such a beauty to live, if he had his way he would take to her one of the castles and let her live there with all the servants to tend her so she would not have to lift a finger, but she determined, and stay with the army she would. To live, eat, drink and fight beside them, and he had no choice but to agree with her. She had promised the men that that would live alongside them, and if it came to it die with them/ the very thought of her dying caused a lump to form in his throat, and his chest to tighten, and his heart to start aching.

"I Merelda of House Sentre, first born daughter of Lord Rase and Lady Trilia. And now by your good Grace and your in trust in me, Queen Merelda of Surda do invest, you Lord Stanza, as my vassal, loyal servant Lord high constable of my realm, and do bequeath you a handsome spam of land. To nurture and tend. Our new cities of Lithgow and that of Dauth to guard, protect and raise." The cities where far apart Lithgow was nearer to what would be the capital city Aberon but it was indeed a handsome fortune. He felt honoured that Lady Merelda, his lady was so willing to grant him such riches.

She touched him gently on the shoulder raising him to his feet, and at her touch he felt goose bumps appear on his skin. He couldn't help it, he trembled with pleasure and joy that she had touched him. he was still absorbed in this when Merelda held a scroll out to him, saying. "here are your letters patent, and the seal of our office My Lord Stanza. Bear them well, rule your subjects with justice and peace in your heart."

"My Lady," he said bowing very low. She was his queen now, though she had yet to be crowned. He was her sworn vassal and he would do whatever he could to help her.

Stanza stepped aside standing to her right, and watched as several more lords where granted land in Surda, and several men within the army where recognised for their deeds of great bravery on the battlefield.

And all throughout it, Stanza could not take his eyes of Merelda, he couldn't help but admire her for what she was doing, and he couldn't stop himself from watching her, he loved her so much he didn't know what would became of him, if she said she never loved him.

Later that night Stanza pulled off his boots sighing, today had been a long one, and this heat wasn't helping, 'we should have separated the north instead of the south!' he thought as he lay back on his cot, 'that way we would have frozen to death instead of boil! At least if we had the north we could have put extra clothes on, down here it is impossible!' but there was no help for it.

They had decided on the south, with more coast line to send ships for trading. He supposed they had done alright, considering they had been fighting for only a year and a half, he supposed at least they were near to their goals, to their independence.

He allowed his mind to relax and soon found himself asleep. He dreamt of Merelda. Of Merelda and himself. She was dressed in beautiful blue dress, her long red hair flowing freely. They were walking down an aisle within a castle not touching. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, at the end of the aisle stood an altar. Where they would become one, where they would be joined together.

He watched the ceremony unfold before him, and wishing that in his hear it would happen. That they would be joined together forever as man and wife.

Something sharp was being pressed into his neck, the cold metal causing goose bumps to rise all over his body. His eyes snapped open and someone pressed a finger to his lips as he began to shout. "G…"

"Don't be foolish, my lord." A voice whispered, it was deep and raspy and the mans breath smelt like sweet summer wine. "if you cooperate I won't kill you!"

He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat, who was this man? And where was Merelda? Was she safe? Were they all safe?

"My Lord." came the voice of one of his guards outside. The man pressed the dagger further into his neck and hissed.

"Get rid of him, now!"

"I'm alright," he said, surprised and hopeful that his voice was calm. "bad dream."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine thank you."

"Very well, night my lord."

"Goodnight."

He looked at the man and in the light of the single candle it was impossible to tell who it was.

"What do you….?" He stopped mid sentence as something hard collided with his head, and the only thing he knew what the white hot pain and darkness.

Sweetgem looked out of the window. Her mind full of memories, she found it impossible to sleep on this night, her nerves were on edge, her heart beat furiously against her ribs as if she had run a mile, or had just received a shock. Her stomach felt as if it were in knots. She felt uneasy.

Could it be because of her man she must now call her husband? Was he perhaps planning something? It was possible, who knew what these traitors might do. The only thing she knew for certain was that she hated this family. The men and women who were willing to betray good and honest people to satisfy their own desires. Yet she felt she couldn't hate the children, they were innocent of any crime. 'You can't help who you are born to,' she thought 'no more than you help what you are taught.'

She liked the children she had met so far, Rahab and Hannah seemed nice. And poor Hannah, she had to help the younger girl, it was not her fault she had been born out of the family and brought in as a ward. She thought that Lord Ricardo must have been a somewhat decent man to do that even if he and his family were traitors and had brought down her family, killed her father and in the end been the death of her entire family. Although not all the blame should be put on them, the man who calls himself king had a bigger part to play in it as well as her so called brother. That betrayal hurt the most.

She had to help these children she decided, she had to help them grow and prosper in decent adults and that meant learning more about the family and getting to know the children. It wouldn't be easy but she would try. But I'm only twelve, she thought, how is a twelve year old girl supposed to go about fixing a family. She would never truly love the man she now called her husband but she would be polite and kind to him as every princess ought to be when married to a foreign prince. She would be like her Lady Mother had been on her first arrival, kind and polite. She would not let her down.

A girl like her could rebel, could do anything she wanted to do, and she would do it. she would help the rebels. If she could not be happy, there was no reason why others should suffer. Hence her letter to Lord Stanza, she wondered how long it would be before he got it, and wondered what his response would be. She hoped he would accept her help and support, to free the nation.

The sounds of someone in pain brought her back to the present she should not get lost in memories. It would not do if the man she must now call her husband came to claim what was his. She rose gracefully and moved towards the door, her heart still pounding.

"Hello," she said, opening the door to her rooms and slowly stepping out. She hated this castle and she wished she were back at home with her mother and her siblings. There was no response as she had expected but it was worth a try.

She followed the sounds until she reached a door, she knocked and said. "hello, are you alright in there?" there was a pause then.

"Yes. I'm fine." That was Brutus' voice, what could be wrong with him.

"Can I come in?" she said, why was she doing this? There was another pause, then.

"yes."

She did, and she stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw him, sitting at the end of a bed his foot was drenched in blood and many splinters sticking out of it.


	20. Chapter 20

20\. Visions and Venom

She gasped involuntarily. The young man looked no older than seventeen, his features proud and handsome, like those of the man she must call her husband. Yet his clenched jaw, watering eyes and the blood dripping from his foot unnerved her. The splinters in his foot and the metal shaft lodged in his ankle looked firmly wedged into the skin, as if someone had deliberately pushed them in.

Who could have done it, she wondered. She knew, from what she had seen of them the previous night, that this family were very aggressive towards one another, but surely they would not really attack their own child? They could not be as brutal as that, could they?

Slowly she drew nearer to the boy on the bed, noticing the cold suspicion in his eyes as he watched her approaching. He wore a black shirt and matching pants. Around his waist was a belt in which hung a sword in its grey and brown scabbard. A few feet away from him stood a pair of brown riding boots. Above these hung a large yew bow and a quiver of arrows decorated with black and white feathers. Beside him, the silver tips red with blood, were a pair of tweezers. On his lap were strips of torn blue cloth.

Lucrezia felt her heart ache with concern as she watched the young man trying to remove the pieces of wood and steel from his foot. She longed to help him, but knew very well what might happen if she involved herself in a battle between him and another member of the family she served. Powerful as she might be, she had no desire to take sides in a battle which was not hers and, though it seemed ridiculous to her, by helping him, she would, in the eyes of his enemy, seem to be taking his side. Yet she would not stop Sweetgem, she decided. Kemba clearly loved her dearly already and would protect her from any consequences she suffered, whatever the cost.

"Do you need help removing those?" Sweetgem asked, indicating the splinters. Brutus hesitated, then nodded. So she stepped forward, until she was by the bed, then turned to Lucrezia. "Please fetch me some warm water and something to cleanse his wounds," she requested quickly. Lucrezia turned and hurried from the room, returning a few moments later with a bowl of water, a bottle of strong whiskey and a pile of bandages. Then, after lighting several candles and placing them on the small table beside Brutus, she slipped respectfully from the room, murmuring, "I will be in the next room if you need anything, My Lady."

Once she had gone, Sweetgem set to work quickly. After cleaning the tweezers with some of the whiskey, she began gently pulling the bits of wood from Brutus' foot, awed and horrified as he sat in silence, only his eyes giving any indication of the pain he was going through. When she pulled out the metal arrowhead, however, he screamed involuntarily. "I'm sorry," she murmured, carefully cleaning and bandaging his wounded foot. "How did this happen?"

Brutus stared up at her, his expression unreadable. "Why do you ask, My Lady?" he enquired, his voice determinedly calm and controlled. "Your husband was acting on your account, was he not?" "No!" Sweetgem gasped. "Who told you that?" "He said it was a consequence of my earlier actions towards his wife," replied Brutus dully.

There was a tense silence. As it spiralled around the room, like a python in a faraway jungle crushing its prey, Sweetgem dimly register the oddness of the situation. This boy had tried to shoot her when she had first arrived, yet now here she was healing him of an injury caused by the weapon intended to strike her down.

At last the process was over. Brutus was still watching her warily, like a wounded animal when a predator is near. To see him looking at her like that hurt Sweetgem deeply, but far worse was the knowledge that he had thought she would tell Kemba to inflict such a terrible injury on him.

"I've cleaned and bandaged it as best as I can," she told him gently. "I would not advise walking on it though," she added as he made to stand, then collapsed onto his bed. Sweetgem waited until he fell asleep, then slipped into the next room, where Lucrezia was busy preparing a poultice. The scent of the healing herbs cooking was heavy in the air, sweet and comforting. Sweetgem smiled. "You read my mind," she said quietly. Lucrezia smiled back. "It's always good to be prepared for an emergency," she murmured.

Kemba sighed as he put away his papers and gazed up at the tapestry of his ancestors which hung above his desk. It was too late to go back to sleep now, he told himself. The sun had already begun to rise, its pale wintry light already breaking the smothering mask of the subdued land, and the hours he had spent in bed had been filled with terrifying images; of his father's last moments as he imagined them, from what Aunt Trudy had told him, the cruelties King Galbatorix practiced upon his people and what might become of Sweetgem, his princess, his precious champion, his beautiful, flawless...

No, no, he told himself firmly. She was not his. He must not think that way of her. She might be his wife, but her soul, heart, mind, body and spirit were her own. It hurt him that she did not love him, but that did not stop him loving her.

He thought of what he had heard whilst talking with the king over his scrying mirror. His spies, agents of Lords Feraal and Zenwin, had captured Lord Stanza and were bringing him back to Uru'Baen for trial and execution. Sweetgem's ally was in peril.

"What am I to do?" he murmured aloud, staring from the rising sun, the eternal gathering of his ancestors, and the hand-woven images of their mortal forms. "I know my loyalty ought to be to the king and country, but Sweetgem is my wife, my family and an innocent. Ought she not to get some vindication, some chance of happiness in life?" He paused, his eyes scanning the silent faces of those who had gone before him. Their expressions remained impassive, frozen in their thoughts of long ago.

"Aside from that," he went on. "Lord Stanza is a good man, whatever he may not be. He doesn't deserve to be killed by a fellow man, to suffer that sort of betrayal. No one deserves that. Anyway, you know what the king's like. He'll kill him regardless of his innocence, just to prove he has the power to do so. As an Elionite, I have to do something, but how?" He went on in this vein for a long while until he grew tired and his throat was dry. Eventually his eyes grew heavy and his head sank onto his desk.

"Kemba." The voice was soft and thin, as though the speaker were very old. There was a curious sibilant quality in the voice too, but this was hard to hear because it was so quiet. Kemba sighed sleepily. "Five more minutes," he murmured.

"Kemba." The voice was more insistent now, but as soft as before. Kemba ignored it, silently cursing the tyranny of the clock which allowed busybodies to wrench those who had done them no ill from the peace of their dreams. Was it so wrong, he wondered, that he should want a little time to adjust from the turmoil of night to the battles of day?

"Kemba!" The voice was louder now, imperious and full of authority. The hiss was definitely audible now and sounded as though the speaker were growing impatient. Kemba sat bolt upright and turned to the source of the sound.

An alarming sight met his gaze. A gigantic two-edged sword was pointing at his eye, its blade glinting ominously in the semi-darkness. With an involuntary gasp, he tried to move

away and succeeded only in falling to the ground, twisting his ankle painfully.

A moment later, the sword was beside him, its handle almost touching his hand. Tentatively he touched it, feeling its weight and the ridges in its pommel. As he did, the voice came again, sounding faintly amused. "You have seen me for what I am," it hissed. "Sometimes I am dangerous to those who cross me, other times I can be a friend. So can you."

"Who are you?" Kemba asked. "I go by many names," replied the mysterious voice. "For I have lived many lives." A shiver ran down Kemba's spine as he became aware of an immense power emanating from the stranger. Instinctively he let go of the sword, which promptly vanished.

There was a silence as the sun rose higher in the sky, its light turning the study walls orange and bathing the family tree in golden light, so that their faces glowed and their eyes gleamed with energy, as they had in life. As Kemba was marvelling at this, the voice came again. "I am the Guide of your ancestors, Set, Romulus and Jacob." There was another moment of silence, then a clamour of voices began talking at once. Kemba stared around, wondering where they were coming from. He must quieten them, he thought, or they would wake Sweetgem. As he looked around, however, he saw no one.

The voices continued to call out, some in English, others in an ancient language Kemba had heard many times in his life, a guttural, yet musical language which seemed to flow like the waters of an oasis or the sands in an endless sun-baked plain. "Tell her!" they were shouting. "She is your wife now. True love keeps no secrets. Tell her!" Kemba listened to them, a deep conviction rising in his heart. He was going to tell Sweetgem what he had heard.

Then doubt set in. Since the day of their wedding, she had barely spoken to him. She might not listen to him. If she did, she might not believe him. If she did not believe him, she might oppose him instead of helping him.

"How can I?" he asked when silence had fallen. "I was an enemy of her family. I joined the one who sought to break and kill them. How can I speak to her about this? I am not fit to tell her..." A sharp pain in his ankle cut him off and he fell to the floor with an involuntary cry.

"Who has more authority here?" demanded the sibilant voice. "A guide or the one being guided? You took her on as your wife. She is young and needs guidance, not simply shielding! I am the reason you can take a wife at all, Kemba, son of Ricardo! Now go forth and tell her!" Kemba blinked back the tears which had sprung to his eyes at the pain which had coursed through his ankle, his heart and mind racing with mingled trepidation, anger at his own cowardice and a powerful conviction. He must tell her about Lord Stanza. It would be uncomfortable, but it would be the beginning of a journey which would join them together in camaraderie, perhaps even love. As this thought surfaced in his mind, the sibilant voice spoke again, more gently now, almost soothingly, as his father had after rebuking him for some misdemeanour. "I will be with you, Kemba," it assured him. "The future will bring strife, violence and the deaths of many. You cannot prevent that and nor could you in the last battle, but for the sake of my people, I will lift up my eyes and smite your enemies. Love Sweetgem and guard her well. With her, you shall do my work."

Then it was fading, becoming ever fainter as the last traces of darkness left the sky. Kemba stared out of the window, through which, he supposed, the stranger had come and now gone, the parting words of the stranger still ringing in his ears. "I shall be with you, Kemba. With her you shall do my work." Impulsively he lifted his right foot, noticing two holes in his sock, on either side of his ankle. Pulling this off, he saw two marks in the pale skin of his ankle, as if a set of long, sharp fangs had pierced the flesh there. He had not been dreaming.

Hastily he forced his mind onto more practical matters. The sun was up now, all traces of darkness gone from the sky. At the sight of the pale early spring sun, gazing steadily at him like a convalescing invalid, the powerful conviction which had gripped him before returned. Sweetgem was probably awake now. He would have to tell her about Lord Stanza and begin making plans to rescue him.

By now the rest of the family were up and taking their usual exercise before breakfast. As he made his way along the passage separating Sweetgem's chambers from his own, he could hear the deep grunts of his uncle Laban and the thuds as he lifted his javelin and threw it between his customary recital of the Twelve Beatitudes to the Sun, the coughs and cursing of his wife Leah as she tried had failed to meditate thanks to the uproar her husband was making, the shrill singing of Aunt Trudy as she took her morning bath and the familiar sounds of the children's squabbles and scufflings. He silently cursed these familiar sounds now. They might disturb Sweetgem.

She was not in her chambers as he approached. Seeing Hannah sitting on one of her armchairs, he felt his stomach clench. He forced himself to take deep breaths, trying to remain calm, remembering what his father had said about her, how the family must be kind to her and how she was as good as one of them now that they were raising her.

But these were Sweetgem's chambers, Sweetgem's sanctuary within this house. How dare this child intrude on what was hers! The king had taken everything that was rightfully hers from her and now this ignorant little girl was taking what ought to have been her private place, to laugh, cry, rebel and reflect in peace, from her!

She did not look up, but continued to read from a tattered piece of parchment, her legs dangling several inches off the ground as she did. The sight only exacerbated his rage. Could she not even respect her elders, he thought.

In three strides, he was by the armchair. Reaching down, he took the parchment from her, noticing how her eyes widened in surprise and fear as she caught sight of him. This did nothing to alter his mood.

"Whose chambers are these?" he demanded, his voice deadly calm and dangerously quiet. Hannah opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. Kemba slapped her. "Answer me!" he snarled. "Whose chambers are these?" "Th-The Lady S-Sweetgem's, sir," stammered Hannah, her face pale, her wide eyes brimming with tears.

"Precisely!" hissed Kemba. "And you are neither Sweetgem nor will you ever be a lady, so get out." Hannah made to stand, visibly trembling now. Kemba glared at her. "You do remember what happens to trespassers, do you not?" he enquired, gesturing meaningfully to the window, through which they could see a pale, thin man dressed in rags fleeing as a pack of wolfhounds pursued him, their ferocious growls and baying audible through the glass. The man had already been bitten several times and blood was dripping down his legs. The dogs could smell the blood and their eyes blazed with desire to taste it again. Hannah shivered, understanding the message, and ran blindly from the room, her eyes wide and streaming.

Kemba watched her go, taking deep breaths to slow his racing heart. It was not right to become this angry, he rebuked himself silently. Why could he not be like his father? He had been such a great man, strong and cunning, yet as calm as he was compassionate, a true descendant of Jacob, the founder of the family.

The parchment was still in his hand. Glancing down at it, he realized it was a letter. He swallowed hard, remembering the letter he had helped Sweetgem to deliver to her rebel friends and where their leader was now.

Curiosity suddenly rose within him. Who could possibly be writing to Hannah, assuming the letter had been hers? She had no friends among the children of noble birth, or the adults, come to that. In fact, even when Lord Ricardo had been alive, he had been the only person to speak to her or spend time with her.

Impulsively he slipped out of Sweetgem's chambers and began reading. As he caught sight of the handwriting, his heart began pounding again. It was his father's hand.

Dearest Alfrinn

As I write this letter, my men and I are heading towards the Burning Plains. It's not easy to share a small carriage with three hundred burly men, but thinking of your smile and how you manage to keep smiling through even the most awful circumstances brings me joy and strength to go on. I do not tell you this because I want you to respond. I simply want you to know.

I don't want you getting the wrong impression about camping life. It's a wonderful life, full of warmth, friendship and fun. One day, when I return, I'll take you camping and you can see for yourself.

Meanwhile, how are you? The world is large, rough and can be frightening at times. In times such as these, it is hard to be happy. Are you happy?

You won't forget me, will you, darling?

Your

Ricardo

Kemba stood for a long while, looking at the words on the paper. It was incredible the power this page of simple words had over him. Yet these may well have been his father's last written words before his death, and they had been written for one simple peasant girl who had won his heart.

A flicker of jealousy entered his heart. His father had addressed his last letter to his ward, not his son. Why was that? Had he preferred her? How could he? What did he see in her that his family did not possess?

A moment later, he pushed this thought from his mind. He and his father had spent many days together, sometimes in happiness, other times wrestling with serious, uncomfortable and even frightening issues. He had taught him everything he now held dear. They had loved each other, as fathers and sons should.

He looked at the letter again. It was addressed to Hannah. He should return it to her. It was what his father, and his bride, would have wanted.

As he continued on his way, now searching for her and Sweetgem, something on the ground caught his eye. Tentatively, hoping it was not a shadow concealing a mousetrap, he bent down and inspected it. It seemed to be a length of fabric. He picked it up, feeling frayed wool and loose threads under his fingers. If was a shawl, he realized. Judging by the state of it, it must be Hannah's. But where was she?

He found her in a broom cupboard, shivering among the mops and buckets as she silently cried, her head in her hands. Her thin little body looked even thinner than before without her tattered brown shawl. The sight filled him with renewed anger, at her and himself.

Just then, the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor jolted him into action. Quickly he draped the shawl over her, then held out the letter as she looked up. "Save some water for the rest of you," he heard himself say, as his father had whenever he had cried as a child. "Only a drought can be solved by a flood."

Hannah looked up, wiping her eyes and cheeks hastily with her sleeves. Averting his gaze, he held the letter out to her. Disbelief showed in her eyes as she took it with trembling hands. Kemba watched her for an instant, then hurried away in the direction of the footsteps, certain they were Sweetgem's.

He caught up with her as she was passing Uncle Laban's chambers. By now, Uncle Laban had finished his exercises and gone to bathe. Leah sat on a chair in his chambers, gazing curiously at Sweetgem, but Sweetgem did not notice her. She looked tired and preoccupied.

Sweetgem turned, hearing footsteps behind her. Kemba stood before her, his expression of apparent relief at seeing her. "Good morning, My Lord," she murmured, noticing how he inclined his head respectfully to her, then to Lucrezia, a smile touching the corners of his mouth when she did not curtsy.

"Good morning, Princess," he murmured. "Will you walk with me?" Sweetgem nodded her assent, smiling secretively as she remembered her letter to Lord Stanza. "Lucrezia, would you please fetch my cloak and boots?" she asked politely. Lucrezia curtsied and disappeared into Sweetgem's chambers, quickly emerging with her black fur-lined cloak and boots.

Leah watched curiously as her cousin walked away with his new wife, followed by Lucrezia. She was so young and beautiful, she thought enviously, her pale face framed by locks of red hair. The long black dress she wore, together with her big grey eyes, gave her a sad, lost look, like one of the baby birds which are cast out of their nests after a few months of life. She must have been married against her will, she realized with a surge of sympathy.

She remembered her own marriage; the mounting anxiety before the ceremony, the priest's swollen pink lips moving as he had said the words which would bind her forever to the man she now lived with, the smell of the incense burning on the altar, the panic as she had searched for a glimmer of sunlight in the cold cathedral, Laban's warm hand holding hers as he had struggled to put the ring on her finger, the agony as he had put it on the wrong finger, the ominous mutters of her mother-in-law and Lord Ricardo's reassuring words. "Going into marriage can often feel like going into battle. The new surroundings and responsibilities can be exciting one minute, then frightening the next. It's hard enough when you have family with you, but if you're alone, it can leave you feeling helpless, isolated and fearful. I know you may not believe this, but in time love will grow between you. Have courage and be kind. These will be your greatest tools in securing your identity and building your new life." She thought about her life now; her unruly body, which seemed to be perpetually plagued by some irritating illness, her daughter, who played so carelessly with lords' hearts and minds it was a miracle she was still a virgin and her twin sons whose practical jokes drove the family to distraction. She had not done very well, she reflected. Perhaps, by helping this young girl to adjust to married life, she might redeem herself in the eyes of her ancestors, earn her children's respect and save them.

Then doubt set in. How could she hope to speak to this girl? She had been a princess not so long ago. Why would she want to talk to a mere lady, the elder sister of her father's favourite daughter?

Hastily she brushed this thought aside. She was a lady like her now, disgraced by the new king. Who was she to make petty requests of Lucrezia the Two Thousandth? How dare she!

A ray of sunlight reached through the window, warming her, steadying her thoughts. "Do not judge a book by its cover," Lord Ricardo had often said, and he was right. It was not her place to judge Kemba's new wife. She must teach her and help her. She had lost hope for the future when Lord Ricardo had died, but perhaps this lady could restore it.


	21. Chapter 21

21\. Cold, Dark and Empty

He awoke several times, they weren't long periods of consciousness but they were enough to gather some details. He was bound; the light of the sky shining above him told him he was outside somewhere. The feel of grass behind him confirmed it and the smell of a burning fire filled his nostrils. But the question was where was he? Who were the people around him? And why was he bound?

Stanza awoke his head throbbing like the steady beat of a drum. What happened? He didn't remember, his wrists were bound tightly with rope. His mind was all fuzzy, his thoughts were all jumbled. One thought crossed his mind. Where was Merelda? Had she been taken as well? Or was she safe? He needed to find out. He strained against the rope hoping they would give way, but they were strong and far to tight.

Something moved off to his left and he felt a breath of air against his ear. "Trying to go somewhere." The voice said, it was low and sounded vaguely familiar to him, who was it?

"Because your not going anywhere your lordship." Something hard hit him in the side and he coughed.

"Who…. Who are you?" he croaked his voice hoarse.

"A friend."

"Do not lie to me." Stanza said, his voice growing a little stronger, "I recognise your voice," he did, it frustrated him however that he could not place the man's name.

"And what difference would it make if you could name me?" the name asking kicking him viciously in the side. Stanza took a deep breath, the pain shot through him like a burning arrow, robbing his of his breath and his strength. His thoughts were still jumbled.

Where was Merelda? What was going on? He needed to know, he needed to find out whether they were safe. "what do you want with me?" he demanded, if he knew what they wanted then he could begin to make plans. If he knew what they wanted he would be able to work out where they were taking him.

"That's for us to know and you to try and work out, Lord Stanza!" the man said.

Footsteps sounded on the hard ground as the person moved away, towards a crackling fire. Stanza struggled against his bonds. He had to get free, he just had to. For Merelda, for himself, for their happiness. For the future of Alagaesia he had to get free.

After a while he lay back completely exhausted his injured arm burned, and his other, some unknown injuries throbbed painfully. He took a few moments to think, he recognised that voice, and with dawning horror he realised who it was, it was the Lords Feraal and Zenwin, some of Galbatorix's lords, they were taking him back to Uru'baen where he knew in his heart he would die. He would surely die there and no one would be able to save him.

What was he going to do? How was he going to escape. He had to find a way. Somewhere inside him he felt dread and fear stir. Was this the end? A suspicion entered his mind, where they taking him back to Galbatorix. If they were he was doomed. He was going to die, he knew it. Despair and hopelessness washed overwhelmed him. Everything he had worked for, everything he had given up over the last 6 months was finished. It was worthless, he had failed.

Sweetgem walked alongside the man she must now call her husband in silent contemplation. Had she been to quick to judge this family? She felt her stomach automatically tighten with guilt at the thought. But the next second she was filled with rage for what he had done to Brutus. Kemba had no right to do that! No right at all! All children made mistakes, even she had made mistakes as far as her family was concerned. She had argued a lot with her sisters, sometimes over the silliest of things and she would always remember her mother's expression when they had taken their argument to her. But hurting a child, that was a different story! Her mother would never hurt any of them, if they had done something wrong, she would quietly and calmly take them to one side or take them out of the situation and talk to them. Explaining what they had done wrong.

Sure Brutus shouldn't have tried to shoot her with an arrow but equally Kemba shouldn't have driven the shaft into Brutus's foot. It was wrong.

Her anger subsided for a moment as she thought of her family. Her mother, her father, her brothers and her sisters, who were now all dead. All of them, apart from her, Teardrop and Belrel, it wouldn't surprise her however if either of them would die, at some point in the future. Teardrop had to marry a vile man, the lord of Aroughs, Lord Halstead, and Belrel, her poor sister who had not only lost her parents and her siblings but had also lost her husband and her children. Sweetgem felt a strong wave of sympathy for her; she was with that monster of a false king.

She walked beside Kemba in silence, her anger rising and falling like waves on an ocean, all her emotions and thoughts flying around in her mind like flies. Should she say something to Kemba about the way he had treated Brutus? Or should she keep quiet? He was her husband and she should not disobey him. But at the same time she could not allow him to treat a child like that.

"Why did you do it?" she asked suddenly, feeling a tendril of fear slip into her stomach. What was she doing?

"What do you mean princess?" Kemba asked.

"You know what I mean Kemba, don't play games! I know what you've done!" she had stopped walking and stared at him furiously. She remembered someone telling her that when she was angry she looked exactly like her mother and on the rare occasions when she was angry, her rage had been compared to that of a raging fire.

"What you did to Brutus!" she said not waiting for him to answer. She wasn't in the mood to hear his excuses. "I know what you did to Brutus! How could you do that to a child! A child! You are supposed to be the adult here, yes he did wrong trying to shoot an arrow at me! But that is nothing compared to you what did to him! You could have caused him to lose his foot! He might get an infection and die! And all because you could not control your temper! All because you couldn't even think to treat him as the child he is and teach him that trying to shoot people is not the right course of action! What is going on in this house? Why does everyone seem to hate each other? Why do you constantly attack each other? You are family, you should love and care for each other!"

She didn't understand. She didn't understand why they all hated each other. If she had her family back, she would not hate them. She would be glad, she regretted every harsh word she had ever said to her siblings, every quarrel they had, every wrong she had done them, filled her heart. And here was this family. A family who had each other who hadn't lost every member of their family. Perhaps that was it? Perhaps they had lost someone they cared about. She was confused, and hurt, and her sadness filled her. All the anger faded from her and she turned away from him, tears in her eyes. She didn't understand.

"I only did it to protect you." She heard Kemba say. "I wanted to protect you from the dangers here and to discipline him."

"That isn't the way you discipline anyone that is torture!" he seemed ashamed of himself, and she didn't care, he deserved it. No one did that to a child! No one, not even to discipline them or teach them a lesson.

"I have some news for you." He said after a while. She turned to look at him, having wiped her tears away.

"What is it?" she was curious now, what did he have to tell her? Could it be that one of her family had survived that Mad mans rampage? Could it be? Was it possible?

"It's Lord Stanza." He said, "He's been kidnapped."

Sweetgem stared at him in shock. Lord Stanza kidnapped, no, that wasn't right. No it couldn't be right, he couldn't have been kidnapped. No, no, she was hearing things, Kemba was trying to trick her, but the expression on his face told her otherwise, "how do you know?" she asked, "how do you know he was taken."

"There was a letter," he said. "some of Galbatorix's lords have taken him. And they are taking him to the king."

Dread filled her, Stanza was being taken to the false king and there as a rebel he would be tortured and he would be executed for it. Someone else was going to die. no, she told herself, no he would not die, because we will save him. I will not let another person die.


	22. Chapter 22

**22\. The First Steps to Love**

Kemba glanced anxiously at his bride. Her face was pale with fear and the cold, but her eyes were filled with Heldra-ish anger. The sight relieved him, even if it also made him feel uncomfortable. He had expected her to be much more furious than she had been. He had thought she would be hostile, considering what she had been through because of him, but she seemed to be giving him a fair hearing.

"We have to save him," she said resolutely. "I suppose the only way is for someone to go into Illirea - I mean Uru'Baen, She was not a child, he thought, for all she might look like one. She was a strong, determined young lady, a rebel against the king and a champion for justice, truth and peace.

He turned his attention to the words she had said before. He had been rash and cruel in his punishment of Brutus. He knew that. But what else could he have done, he wondered for the umpteenth time. Often it seemed to him that his family had lost their morals, the will to live by them and the courage to enforce them when his father had died. Everything they had tried to instil in the children seemed to have vanished and the adults had given themselves up to brutality and the Settling Curse, which affected the whole family, adults and children alike. They needed someone to bring them back to what they were meant to be.

He thought of asking Sweetgem to help them, then changed his mind. She was a strong woman, but grieving, frightened and much too young. She knew nothing of the Twenty-One Commandments or the curse which had resulted from his family breaking them. It was selfish, unfair and impractical to even consider asking her. Besides, rescuing Lord Stanza was more important now.

"This means," he heard himself say, "that I'll be away for two weeks or thereabouts. You can come with me if you wish, unless you would rather stay and tend to the affairs of state here." As the words left his mouth, a small smile touched his lips as he realised whichever she chose to do could be detrimental to the king's plan. Of course, in the eyes of the law, he would be deemed responsible for her actions because she was his wife, but he would deal with that when it happened. For now, though, it was her decision, as it should be.

Sweetgem thought about Kemba's proposal. If she went with him, she would see Lord Stanza and be able to nurse him somewhat and visit Belrel when the man she must call her husband was not looking. Or perhaps he would let her nurse him and see her sisters. After all, so far, he had been very respectful towards her and seemed to genuinely regret the part he had played in her family's fall.

Then she remembered that Stanza was in Uru'Baen, where the madman had killed her family. A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. Her stomach churned and her head pounded. Perhaps it was best for her to stay behind this time. If she went to Uru'Baen now, she might do something she would regret. In any case, it was highly unlikely that the false king would leave Belrel on her own. If Sweetgem tried to go to her, she would find herself facing the king and she was not strong enough for that.

"I will stay," she said, after thinking it over for several moments. "As you wish," Kemba replied politely as they entered the castle once more, noticing it was only slightly warmer inside than in the garden. He turned to a man standing nearby, whom Sweetgem dimly recognized as Martin the steward. "Assemble the household in the main hall," he instructed him. "I have an important announcement."

The steward hurried away. While he was gone, Kemba wondered if he should give Sweetgem a tour of the house. After all, he reasoned, it would take a while for the steward to find everyone and relay the message to them. Besides, it was important that she understand the secrets of the house and grounds and become acquainted with the rest of the family if she was going to be in charge of his affairs while he was gone.

Before he could make up his mind on the matter, the rest of the household arrived in the hall. Some looked a little disgruntled, as though they had been interrupted in an activity. Nero, one of Kemba's cousins, was brandishing a bloodstained sword as he was led along the corridor by a frightened-looking servant.

"Put that away," drawled Kemba. "All you're going to get waving it about like that is a sore arm." He knew it was not really Nero's fault he acted this way. His father had often told him it was the result of the Settling Curse, an affliction brought upon the whole family by their failure to follow the Twenty-One Commandments, which affected each member in different ways they could not control, but Kemba could never fully agree with this. It was hardly fair, he thought, nor befitting of a civilized man, to use the curse to defend sudden acts of brutal violence.

"That is Nero," he explained to Sweetgem. Nero's watery blue eyes narrowed, which usually served as a warning to anyone standing nearby to run away or reach for something they could use to defend themselves. "What are you saying about me?" he demanded, raising his sword and attempting to run at Kemba. His wife Agrippina prized it from his hand. "He's explaining who you are to his new wife." She sighed elaborately as Kemba began telling them about his intentions to go to Uru'Baen and that Sweetgem would be in charge of the household until he returned, being the lady of the house, glaring at Henry as his eyes gleamed, having noticed how young and beautiful Kemba's new wife was.

Just then the door banged open to reveal Lord Percy. He was dressed as garishly as ever, his blonde wig looking as ridiculous as ever above his purple and red doublet, white pants and jeweled black boots. Seeing Sweetgem, he ambled towards them, smiling, his blue eyes gleaming.

"Good-day to you, my pretty," he smiled, taking her hand and kissing it. "I know what I like and I like what I see." Sweetgem stepped back sharply, repressing a shudder. "That is Percy," Kemba told her grimly. "He's only here because my mother allowed him to stay until his financial situation improves." Then to Percy, he said, "This is Sweetgem, my wife." He emphasized the last two words ever so slightly, as though to make it quite clear that he would take revenge if Percy tried to take liberties with her. His expression remained impassive, but Sweetgem noticed in his eyes the mingled hatred and disdain he felt for Percy.

Percy, however, ignored the warning. For several moments, he was quiet, still smiling as his eyes roved over Sweetgem, sizing her up, she thought with another repressed shudder. Then, still smiling in that inane, repulsive way, he said, "So strong too. I say, Kemmy old man, you've picked a good one here. She looks the sturdy type. I only hope she won't go ape and lose her head like her father." He chortled at his own tasteless joke, then left the room rather hastily as he noticed the appalled expressions of most who were present.

There was a short, awkward silence. Sweetgem felt tears gathering in her eyes and hastily blinked. She must not cry here, not in front of all these people she had just met. It was not proper for a princess to cry in public anyway.

"May I be excused?" she heard herself say, glad her voice betrayed nothing of her emotions. Kemba nodded, his eyes flashing dangerously. Sweetgem hurried away, followed by Lucrezia. Several people, including Rahab, Cleopatra and Delilah made to follow her, then changed their minds, seeming to realize Sweetgem needed some time alone. Kemba gave her a few moments, then left the room as well.

He wanted to find Lord Percy and break every bone in his body for upsetting Sweetgem. How dare he insult her father! Anguenost had been a good king, even if he had been a bit absent-minded. How dare he speak of her the way he had, as though she were a horse or some other animal bought for a man's pleasure. How dare he attempt to make such an indecent advance on her! He had not placed the burden of wifehood on her, knowing she needed time to grieve for her family, come to know him and hopefully eventually love him.

He found Percy in the gardens, practicing with his bow. Seeing Kemba, he beckoned him over with a cheery wave. "Watch this!" he announced proudly, nocking another arrow into his bow and shooting at the target. "I'd like to see the man, mortal or not, who could best me in this noble sport!" "Well, go inside," retorted Kemba drily as the arrow narrowly missed a passing gamekeeper. "There's a whole family of them. Or better yet, go out into the Empire and join the army."

Percy paled. "But I might get killed!" he gasped. Kemba arranged his face into a surprised expression. "Surely not!" he exclaimed. "After all, you are the finest shot in the kingdom!"

Percy looked confused for a moment, then smiled. "Indeed I am!" he declared. "I shall go forth and conquer the rebels in the name of the King! Long live the King!" So saying, he marched away theatrically, running back a few moments later to collect his wig, which had fallen off. "Stay away from my wife while you're at it," Kemba hissed in his ear as he passed him on his way indoors to pack for his mission. "Or I shall do unto you what the inhabitants of the Spine do unto the king's soldiers."

As he entered the house, he remembered how Percy's remark had hurt Sweetgem. It was his right and duty as a loving husband to comfort her, to see her return to something of her full and impressive strength. Besides, he could not abide the idea of her thinking he agreed with Percy's views, especially as he would be unable to speak to her for two weeks while rescuing Lord Stanza.

After knocking softly, he received muffled permission to enter the room and did so. He found her in her chambers, talking to Lucrezia, who had an arm around her. It was obvious at first glance that she had been crying. A rush of empathy filled Kemba as he remembered the slander he had heard about his own father.

"Pay no attention to Percy's words," he heard himself say, bowing slightly to Lucrezia as he approached. "He's an idiot and very devoted to the false king." Sweetgem raised her beautiful head, her streaming eyes filled with surprise. Encouraged, Kemba went on, "King Anguenost was a good, wise ruler and his influence will forever remain in Alagaesia."

She looked at him properly then, the tear stains on her cheeks the only mar in her beauty. Her slightly bloodshot eyes were narrowed with suspicion, but glimmered with unmistakeable relief and hope. Kemba longed to brush the tears from her face, but did not dare, in case his action was interpreted as an unwelcome advance or an invasion of her person. He could not afford to lose the chance he may have gained to earn her trust.

There was a silence in which they gazed at each other, each wondering what the other was thinking, but not daring to ask. From outside, they could hear Lord Percy's arrows striking everything but their intended target. Lucrezia tactfully pulled her sewing towards her and began working on the white cloak which was beginning to take shape.

The next morning, as he was jolted this way and that by the bumps in the road back to Uru'Baen, Kemba thought of the risky mission which lay ahead of him. He would have to spend a lot of time placating the king and distracting Lords Feraal and Zenwin before he could remove Lord Stanza from their clutches, but it would be worth it if he succeeded. He would be liberating a rebel leader, thus helping Alagaesia to thrive, which he hoped would go some way towards repairing the damage he had caused by supporting Galbatorix in that last fateful battle. If he was extremely fortunate, rescuing Lord Stanza and nursing him back to health might win Sweetgem's favor. Even if it did not, it was still the right thing to do, he thought.

Then doubt set in. The king was extremely powerful, despite his madness, and could easily kill him with one word before he had even gone within a league of Lord Stanza's prison. Kemba could do magic as well, of course, or he could never have attained the high position afforded him in the king's court, but his power was limited by the Settling Curse, which drained his energy and gradually laid waste to his body. If the king or one of his more powerful magicians chose to impede his progress, it might lead to his death.

He shivered. It was not so much hat he feared death. After all, there was the chance he might become one with the Sun, as his father might have, and live forever in peace, glory and eternal wisdom with his ancestors.

No, his greatest fear was leaving Sweetgem behind. She had shown herself to be a strong woman, even though she had been through so much at such a young age, and for that he admired her. But the fact remained, strong as she undoubtedly was, she was also a twelve-year-old girl, orphaned and isolated in a country which no longer looked kindly on women. If he died, leaving her alone, she would be vulnerable to the king and his cohorts, who would all relish the opportunity to seize her and rob her of all she held dear, including her honour.

"Father, give me courage," he murmured as the sun rose above some tall poplar trees. "I cannot do this alone." He turned to look at the sun, catching a brief glimpse of its ever-bright light before dropping his gaze respectfully. "Oh great ones who came before me," he murmured, hoping he did not sound as clumsy as he felt as he unburdened his pounding heart. "You are both in the world and above it. Your eyes alight upon the good and the bad and you judge them wisely. Your hands, more numerous and mighty than the stars in the sky, help and uphold the young and the old, the rich and the poor. Please, if it be your will, be with me and let me, a youngster in the eyes of the world, partake awhile of your great strength, that I may do right and act for the greater good, as you did before me." He bowed his head, turning his gaze downward, to the coiled snake set into his signet ring. "Great Orum who created this world," he began. "You made the day for man to glorify you and the night for him to reflect upon your glory. You created all life, from the noblest, greatest and strongest, to the humblest and most bestial. Even the utterly decadent claim you as their maker. May I too, a little animal in your great kingdom, cleave to you in my hour of uncertainty. As your broad hood shielded your people from the sun in their wanderings, please safeguard me from weakness, cowardice and the sins which come with it; indolence, false pride and forgetting my duty to my true master, who is father and protector of all. Please be with Stanza in his current state and enable me to do what us right by him. Be with Sweetgem also, in her grief, fear and uncertainty. Help her to know me as a friend at least and lift her spirit, that she may, as you said before, rise up and perform your wonders." He went on praying in this fashion, hardly noticing as the carriage driver stopped to feed and water the horses, oblivious to the footsteps which approached him. Only when he felt someone sink into the seat beside him did he look up with a gasp of surprise.


End file.
